Shades of Grey
by Merr2
Summary: Unconnected vignettes exploring both the prelude and the denouement of life's turning points. Shade 3: betwixt: part one of a 'Scorch' companion piece.
1. Power of the Powder

The one-shots in this collection are based purely on whimsical ideas of mine, as well as annoying plot-bunnies. Some deal with 'normal' X-men issues, and some are completely random. Enjoy.

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_It did not feel like something that was going to take over my life and destroy it. It felt like a subtle flower instead of a manipulative demon. That's the mystery of heroin. - Corey Feldman_

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Rogue could relate to the undesirables and pariahs of society, because she was one of them. No matter how often the X-men showed their support, no matter how sweet Kitty was to her, no matter how many times Remy snuck through her balcony and left roses on her dresser; she was still different. She had never fit in with humans or mutants around her, and maybe she never would.

It was this thought that caused Rogue to stop that day, that mormal, chilly day.

She'd been walking to the bus stop after school, with her combat boots squeaking and her bag thrown carelessly over her shoulder, when she'd seen the homeless man. He looked lonely, deserted- just like her. The swarms and clumps of people walking down the sidewalk just waltzed right past him. Did they even notice him? Did they ignore him? How could they not feel pity for his hungry, empty eyes?

She bit her lip and looked down at her cell phone. Three minutes until the bus got there…but she knew as soon as she'd seen that man that she wouldn't be making it to the mansion on time.

She crossed the street and weaved through the parked cars and taxies like an expert.

She dug into her pocket and retrieved a crumpled, dirty twenty dollar bill. She tried wiping it on her tights to clean it some; then handed it to the man.

He only stared at her. She could see him more clearly as she approached, and she realized suddenly as she looked at his new clothes and clean appearance that the man wasn't homeless at all. His eyes weren't empty from starvation, they were empty because the man before her was high off some drug she didn't want to know about.

Her pale cheeks flushed crimson from anger, and she shook her head in disgust. She felt stupid. The bastard deserved no more sympathy than Sabretooth himself.

She made to turn.

"Wait- don't leave me!"

His hand wrapped around her bare arm in an impossible grip, and she cried out when the transfer of life force began. His memories, his thoughts, his wants, his need for more heroin in his veins- she didn't want it; she didn't want any of it!

"Lemme go! Please-" His own elevated state began working on her, and her knees buckled beneath her weight.

Civilians around her asked if she was okay, and they tried helping her. She screamed for them to go away, to not touch her.

"They'll get me if I'm alone. The shadow people. They'll get me!" he rasped.

He died, and she felt it like it like a punch in the gut. And then, 'she' and 'he' were no more. There was only 'they' and 'they' needed it.

That was all they could think about.

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She ignored it at first. But her head pounded and his whimpers echoed in the recesses of her mind. He needed it, she needed it. She was Rogue, she was Corey.

It would feel so nice. All her pain would leave. The voices would go silent. Only one hit- just one more, and then she would stop. She would quit the stuff for good and get her shit together. She would beg Kerry to come back, she would get a decent job, she would get to see her little girl again.

But after she got a hit. Just one more hit.

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It took eight seconds, _eight seconds_, for it to work its magic. Her mouth went dry, her face got warm, and her hands and feet became so pleasantly heavy. She just wanted to sit there- in that strange apartment- forever.

The man- she knew somehow that his name was Mark, that he'd been her dealer for years, that he gave her a needle to use, gave her the stuff, the stuff she needed so very much- sat next to her on the grimy sofa and wetted his lips.

"So," he began, watching as she untied the shoestring from around her arm, "you said you were a friend of Corey's?"

She nodded, licked her lips, too. Her mouth was so dry!

She could see the stars through the ceiling; she could feel the ants marching along her spine like an army.

Mark's brown eyes traveled down to her thighs. He smiled and rested his hand on her knee. She was too fuzzy to tell him to back off.

"I'm usually not too keen on random people showing up at my doorstep," she could smell the staleness of his clothes and breath, she could see the buildup of grease on his blonde hair. "but if you're a friend of Corey's, then you're a friend of mine."

She got a sudden burst of energy, and she stood. "Ah gotta go. Dinner time soon." Was she really talking as slowly as she felt? Everything around her was shifting and swaying slowly back and forth- like a dream. A rainbow-colored, saccharine dream.

"Come on, honey. I just hooked you up with some extra, can't I get some repayment?"

He kissed her, and it was only slightly marvelous that she could touch, especially since it was sloppy and wet and disgusting; she felt her stomach churn.

"My mouth is too dry-" She managed to place her hands against his chest and push. "-and Ah really do have to go. Ah'll tell Corey you say 'hi'." She ignored his heated glare and gathered her bag.

_Tell him you'll be back tonight._

"Ah'll be back tonight," she slurred.

Some of the anger left Mark's face, and instead he smiled. "Alright. I'll have some more of this stuff at a discounted price, just for you, kay?"

She just wanted to leave.

_Thank him._

"Thanks."

She dragged her feet down the stairs of the apartment complex and hailed a taxi. Once inside, her head fell back against the seat. She watched the top of the car. The ceiling moved.

They came to a stop. She sat up and looked out the window. "At the mansion already?"

The man gave her a funny look, and she realized she'd spoken aloud. Rogue giggled and gave him the amount due.

"Damn tweekers," the man spat, then zoomed away.

She shrugged, and headed inside. The swaying motion returned, only this time she felt energized, and maybe even hyper.

She ran up the stairs and slammed the door. She laughed and threw herself on her bed- landing smack dab on something warm and spicy-smelling.

"I assume dis means yo' happy to see me, c_hère_."

_Don't look him in the eyes_, Corey warned.

She kept her gaze on her green comforter. "What are you doing here? If Logan smells you you're dead and Ah'm grounded."

She got up and headed to the bathroom.

_Splashing water on your face won't sober you up. He's going to know…he's going to catch us…_

His paranoia spread through her and her heart pounded harshly against her rib cage. He would know, Remy always knew. Would he tell the professor? Would he try and stop them?

"_Chère_?" He entered the bathroom as well; she could feel his eyes boring into her. He flipped on the light and they both panicked.

She spun on him. "Turn the light off!" She trembled, the nice feeling was leaving and anxiety was taking its place. If the lights came on he would see; he would know-

She hit the switch and darkness returned to the room. Before she could leave he grabbed her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. She could see the shock and disbelief.

"Yo'-"

Corey freaked, she freaked. She freaked like the time Corey's wife walked in on him while using. He'd beaten her that night. He'd been so afraid she would tell-

She stomped on his foot as hard as she could and ran from the room. He couldn't follow her into the hallway, and for the time being she was safe.

She wanted to go to the professor and block Corey from her thoughts, but the stuff was already in her veins and she wanted it more than anything.

Maybe someday, she could tell Remy and he would be happy because the stuff was magical and it took the poison away from her skin. They could touch; and she knew from the psyche in her head that Remy hadn't even kissed another woman since he'd met her the year before. He was wound tight, ready to burst: and seeing her laying on her bed at night when he came to watch her sleep, smelling her violet shampoo, her tossing and turning- it was driving him to the brink.

She could convince him to approve.

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She hadn't believed Corey when he'd warned her of the cravings. After all, one injection couldn't hook her, not _her_. Others got addicted to things, not she. She was too strong, too smart.

But that didn't seem the case when she left the mansion three hours later.

Corey murmured directions and she told the cab driver.

_Where are we going? We have to get to Mark's, Ah want to feel it again-_

_We need to get money from my apartment. The cops are going to identify my body soon, and we need to get there first._

She remembered then that she killed a man. For some reason, an emotional block separated her from that thought. Corey didn't seem too mad, either. As long as he got the smack and as long as she got the smack: both were content in their current state.

She exited the cab and looked up at the grey building. She recognized every inch of the place, even though she'd never been there. She knew to kick the front door before it would open. She knew to avoid the fourteenth step because it was covered with dry vomit. She knew to feel above the door and retrieve the extra key.

Her knowledge was no different once inside the actual apartment. She'd left her laundry on the floor because she hadn't gotten a fix in six hours and needed one so badly…the dishes from last week were still piled in the sink because she had to run to the bank and get cash for her fix-

She went into the bedroom and lifted the mattress. She wasn't worried about prints because of her gloves.

Her eyes widened and a feeling of euphoria overcame her. All that money, all those twenties- it would last them weeks!

She'd emptied her backpack and brought it with just as he told her, and she set it on the floor and began filling it with money.

_How did you get all this?_

_Ever hear about the 24th street bank robbery? _He chuckled_. Courtesy of yours truly. _

For a moment her stomach cramped, but she ignored the feeling and stuffed the money into the bag.

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She wasn't the only one who seemed to have plans with Mark that evening. Two cars were parked out front and when she knocked on the door, it opened to reveal a trashy-looking couple on the couch and a black man leaning on the counter.

"Hey there." Mark stepped out of the way to allow her inside; then proceeded to lock all four of the locks.

She leant against the wall and pulled a fifty from her bra. "Ah need five. Ah'm in a hurry."

She heard Corey scolding her for her lack of politeness. She added a sweet smile.

Mark shook his head. "Always in such a rush." He brought out his scale and weighed each individual baggie. He handed her the junk and leant close to her ear. "There's an extra sack, just like I promised. Come see me tomorrow and I'll H you up, kay?" He licked the arch of her ear; then unlocked the door and opened it for her.

She ran down the stairs until she got far enough away from his door, and then sat on a step and ripped open the package of needles she'd found at Corey's apartment.

She mixed the powder and water in the chamber of the needle, then shook it up to mix it well. She grew excited, eager even. She needed this, she needed this so badly. After she finished the amount she'd just bought- she was done. She would go to Xavier and tell him what happened, she would apologize to Remy and try to work things out, she would get some help-

She main lined it and the magic filled her veins. Ecstasy.

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Remy was waiting for her in front of the gate; she'd half expected he would be.

His face was the perfect picture of gorgeous rage. Only her Cajun could look pissed and oh-so-sexy at the same time.

She stood in front of him and looked at his neck instead of his eyes, just like Corey instructed. "Sorry about earlier."

He raised his eyebrow, as if to say: that's all you've got? "We need to talk, _petite._"

Dread formed icily on the edges of her high, she didn't want him to bring her down. "Ah'm tired. Can this wait?"

She punched in the access code and strode past him. She knew he would just climb up to her balcony and that she'd have to face him in her room. The thought both terrified and thrilled her.

Sure enough, she opened the door and he stood in the opening of the swinging French doors. His form was just a lump of blackness due to the lack of light, but his fiery eyes smoldered against the dark.

She continued to ignore him, and pulled out her mp3 player. She popped in both of the ear buds and turned the sound to full blast.

She had no idea how long he let her lay there, and when she looked up out of curiosity and annoyance, she realized he'd been taking the chance to watch her.

"So I was right den." He swallowed over the lump in his throat; the betrayal was back in his eyes.

She couldn't hear him, but she could read lips. She rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes. She didn't want to deal with his accusations and questions. She was just so happy…why couldn't he let her be happy?

In a motion so swift she had no time to react, Remy ripped the headphones from her ears and threw the device across the room.

He got right into her face, and even though she'd never seen him so furious his smell still aroused her.

"What are you _doin'_," she whispered. His lips were close enough to feel his soothing breath against hers.

"I was 'bout to ask y' de same t'ing," he spat, and then twirled away from her; fists bunched at his sides. He was using every ounce of patience he had so he wouldn't blow something up, and she sat straight against her pillow.

"How long, _hein?" _He faced her again, his expression was strained. "How long y' been shootin' up?" He grabbed her wrist and ignored her cries.

He pulled her burgundy sleeve up and stared at the pale flesh of her inner arm. The injection sites were knew, and cherry red. She could feel his anger and rage boiling to the surface.

"Ah-" What could she say to make this better? How did one tell her boyfriend she did heroin?

Instead of yelling or breaking up with her or even demanding she explain every detail, Remy only sighed and let his head hang.

_"Pourquoi?"_ His pain was like a kick in the stomach. "Didn't I try makin' y' happy in any way I could? I quit t'ievin', quit partyin'- an' dis is what I get? A heroin addict of a girlfriend?"

His admonishment hurt badly, but she knew she deserved every harsh word he threw at her. What could she say? She couldn't tell him the truth. He would tell Xavier and then he'd take away the H, and she wanted it more than she wanted food or water. She had to lie, and though she hated doing that to Remy- she had no choice.

"It wasn't about you, shuga. The psyches- they were gettin' out of control, they wouldn't be quiet. My head hurt so bad, Remy-"

It was working, he could never resist when she widened her emerald eyes just the tiniest bit.

"Ah knew it was wrong, but Ah just wanted them to shut up." She began to cry, her gloved hand found his. "What will Ah do? Ah know Ah can't keep doin' this, but how will Ah find peace?"

Remy's face softened begrudgingly and he brought her close to his chest. "Oh, c_hère_. It'll be okay. Remy will figure all of dis out, _d'accord_?"

Rogue nodded and buried her face deeper in his chest. Part of her watched in horror at her lying trickery; the other part smiled- because fooling him had been much too easy.

"Y' can't keep doin' dis, I won't let y', _comprenez_?." His mouth was set in a firm line, and his eyes were still blazing with leaping anger. "I'll find some other way to help y',_ je promets. _Y' just have to give me some time-"

"Okay, Remy. Ah'm so sorry."

"I know y' are, Roguey." He grinned and pulled on her hand. "Come with me on a walk, de moon is _tres belle!"_

Her smile became stiff. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bathroom and get a couple more fixes…but being with Remy always sounded wonderful, so she consented.

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He held her hand as they strolled around the park. "I want y' to talk to Xavier or something, c_hère. _Dat shit? Dat heroin? It ain't nothin' to play with- it'll hook y'." He shook his head and squeezed her hand absently. "_Ga lee_...Seen some a de best lose deir lives cause a dat shit, an' I won' see y' do de same t'ing."

She rolled her eyes. "Xavier's the last damn person Ah'd talk to about this!" She pulled her hand from his and snorted. "He knows we've been hangin' out, he doesn't like it but he knows you wouldn't do anythin' wrong to me- but if Ah waltz into his office one day and tell him Ah've done heroin he might think a bit differently."

For a moment he just stared at her, and she was convinced he was going to call her out on her lie.

"Whaddya wan' me to say? What y've done is _coo-yôn_-and-I'm just worried is all. If anyt'ing happened to y'-"

The anger and frustration left her small body, and she leant into his embrace. "You don't need to worry about me. Ah have you, remember?"

She just hoped he was enough, and Corey knew that he wouldn't be. Corey knew that nothing: not a little girl, or a beautiful wife, or a supportive family could stop it. As far as he was concerned, she was doomed just like he was.

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She wore sunglasses to school the next day. She didn't care about the idiots at school gossiping, but she knew Kitty and the others would start asking questions if they saw her pupils.

Kitty paused in the middle of singing along to a bop-bop pop song, and leaned over towards Rogue. "A little tired from Remy's moonlit visit last night?" She waggled her eyebrows.

Rogue smirked; the magic in her veins made her disposition much more cheery. "Ah guess you could say that."

Kitty's eyes widened; pleasantly surprised. In general- Rogue was not a people person, but in the morning she was even more hellish. "You're, like, in a good mood today, Rogue. Are you sure you and Remy didn't do anything other than walk…?"

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A month passed by. It was blurry and nondescript. She began dipping into her bank account because Corey's funds were getting low.

Her clothes were beginning to hang from her frame, but Remy only watched her. She told him to stop worrying, she was just under a lot of stress.

And because he was so deeply in love with her and blamed himself for her drug use; Remy accepted her words, but made sure she was by his side whenever possible.

He hated himself for keeping quiet. The urge to tell someone, _anyone_, smoldered and eroded away at his throat. Rogue was killing herself, and he was just watching while it happened.

.

"Rogue-"

He got that look every so often. She knew, despite her inexperience; that it was lust and that Remy had to contain every thought and gesture when he was around her. He knew the thought of hurting him terrified her, so he didn't push. But every so often he would ignore her warnings and fears and touch her. Of course, it was through her clothing and was more rubbing and caressing through cloth and kissing through scarves than actual meeting of flesh, but she got off during those little excursions and it was so very hard for her to put her hands on his shoulders and ask him to stop; when all she wanted to do was keep going.

But, as they stood on the balcony and his hands rested on her hips, then her ribs, then the sides of her breasts- she felt no fear. Just warmth- and a raging lust of her very own.

She almost wanted to tell him to discard his gloves and clothes; that they could touch now, but she didn't. Her mouth wasn't working properly and telling him that would lead to questions, and questions to answers, and she just wanted to enjoy what he was making her feel.

One of his thumbs moved against her nipple. She gasped and clung to his arms. He brought her closer and backed her slowly into the room.

Before she knew it, the back of her legs hit the bed and he pushed her onto her back, laying flush against her. She could feel every groove and bulge of his body: she could feel that he was hard for her.

His gaze seemed to penetrate her brain. "I love y'."

She tangled her hand in his long hair and wrapped her legs around his waist: effectively bringing him closer. She didn't want declarations of love or tenderness. She wanted him to ravish her; she wanted him to get rough and nasty like she'd seen in his memories. She wanted to hurt inside, she wanted to bleed, she wanted to _feel_. She felt so good and she was so ready- she didn't want to wait anymore.

He pulled her shirt off and threw it across the room. His hot mouth found her breasts and she could feel what he did through her bra. His tongue worked her into a frenzy; she whimpered and arched her back, and grinning when she saw his control begin to slip away. She was tired of him holding back for her sake.

_That's it, lose your mind, sugar. _

He lifted her and nearly ripped away her skirt. He left her tights on. "Y' sure?" he managed through the haze of desire.

Rogue growled impatiently and told him not to stop.

His breathing was ragged and his mouth went to her inner thigh next. He nibbled her there and she hated him for knowing her so damn well.

He traveled upward; she trembled when his warm breath puffed _right here_, and when his finger joined in to work her _in__ there_.

The belle lost all semblance of sanity; when she came she made no attempt to quiet herself. Dots of color danced in her vision and she rode the wave of ecstasy for an immeasurable amount of time. Remy, however, went silent after her outcry and looked towards the door.

Not twenty seconds later the hinges of the bedroom door were ripped from the wall as Wolverine barreled through.

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Wolverine ranted and raved after Remy escaped. He shook his finger in her face and asked her how she could do _that _with a guy like Gambit.

He threatened to track him down and castrate him. He threw in her face the fact that she was seventeen- not even a legal adult, and that Gambit was much too old for her. He called him a pervert and a scoundrel.

At that point she got fed up. She was high at the time- her inhabitions floated away somehwere up in the sky. "Ah've been in your head, Logan. Ah know all of your thoughts and desires. Do you want to continue callin' my boyfriend a pervert?"

He'd only looked at her; taken aback by her cruelty. He murmured something about fixing her door in the morning, then left.

She went in the bathroom and shot up so she wouldn't have to think about how very close she and Remy had been.

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They were still laughing about the whole ordeal half a month later; she and Remy. It'd been tense when Rogue first brought it up, but her Cajun knew how to make her laugh in any situation, and soon they forgot it altogether and enjoyed their afternoon with each other. The sun was warm against their faces, Rogue was glad for the excuse to wear sunglasses. Her head rested on his chest, and his arm was wrapped around her narrow shoulder.

Warmth, and something akin to wanting grew rampant between the two. They both knew they had unfinished business to attend to; _needed _to attend to- Rogue shifted in frustrated discomfort, Remy kept her angled away from his groin.

He knew he could initiate things and that she would consent, but he couldn't stop thinking about all the things working against them: Rogue's recent experimentation with drugs, Wolverine's awkward discovery of their relationship, and most importantly- the fact that he was still married to another woman. He loved Rogue with all his heart, but he couldn't stand the idea of taking her while still legally bound to someone else.

"I want y'," he confessed. "I'm tired of waitin', _chére_." He still couldn't face her; he had to tell her. He hoped she would understand.

Rogue shifted her position so should could stare at him. Excitement made her heart flutter. "Then what's holdin' you back?" Her voice was demure; her cheeks rosy. She took in his Adonis-like profile and she _wanted _him.

Their gazes connected and his scarlet orbs flashed. "'Cause I-" She saw his throat working. She'd never seen the chatty man speechless before. "I have to go away for a little while, Rogue."

He felt her go stiff.

"My _père _called me dis mornin'."

He could see the hardening of her features as she turned away.

"He said Bella Donna was willin' to agree to a divorce-" He scratched the back of his head. "We got married when we were eighteen, and ever since den I've been tryin' to end it. She held on for five years, _mais_ she's finally come to her senses. Dis could be my only chance to get rid of her once and for all."

She smiled, and returned her head back to its original resting place on his chest. "Ah'll be waitin' for you, shuga."

His body slackened in relief; he kissed the top of her head.

She tried desperately to keep the emotions within her tame.

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When he dropped her off he kissed the top of her head, and in that silky, melting voice, told her when he returned that nothing would keep them apart.

She understood the meaning, and with a cry she couldn't hide, Rogue jumped up and threw her arms around the Cajun's neck, and wept in his embrace.

"Marie, _chére_, don't do dis to Remy!" He kneaded circles in her shoulders and lifted her into his embrace. Her legs curled around his waist. "Y' know how it kills dis _homme _when y' cry!"

She knew it was true, the sight of her shedding just one tear was something Remy could not handle. To her shame, she'd used the weakness against him several times in their many heated arguments.

He used his gloved thumb to swipe away the makeup beneath her eyes. She did her best to calm herself. "Dat's my _fille courageuse_." He grinned. "Can I see dat pretty smile?"

She tried, but her lips trembled too badly. She saw him sadden. "W-will you call me?"

He held her even more fiercely and stared into her eyes. "_Mais _sho'. What a silly question!"

She nuzzled her face against his neck, using her silky hair as a shield. She wanted to tell him she could touch him, she wanted to tell him she was terrified because Bella Donna was gorgeous in a way she could never hope to be, she wanted him to come inside and make love to her, she wanted to tell him the truth…

"Ah love you, Remy." She kissed his lips for the briefest of moments. "So much."

His throat tightened; she _never _said it first. "_Je t'aime aussi_, my beautiful girl. I'll be back before y' know it." He chuckled. "And den I'm gonna drive y' crazy with all my annoying antics, _d'accord_?"

She really laughed then.

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When she got to her room she slammed the door shut and broke a lamp; she pretended it was Bella Donna's face as she drove her foot through it. She threw cd's against the wall and ripped the sheets on her bed. She was furious, she was losing her mind. She was pathetic, too- since when had she become the possessive, needy type? That wasn't the Rogue she knew.

She blared the darkest, most screechy music she owned, and shot up heroin while she banged her head back and forth to the beat.

.

Rogue soon realized that Remy had been the only thing standing between her and the dark abyss. She lost herself in the pleasure of getting high, being high, and staying high. Corey's insatiable hunger became her insatiable hunger, and together their hunger swallowed her will to fight.

.

He called Rogue before she went to school, when she got done, and then as she got ready for bed, every day for two straight weeks. He told her about his _Tante _and her superstitious ways, he told her about his brother Henri and his wife Mercy. He told her about the crocodile that managed to find its way into their backyard, he told her about his walks down to the corner of Bourbon and Royal to visit his favorite _Cigar Shoppe_. He told her about his solitary rides in the family air boats through the thick swamps.

She smiled, and laughed, and commented in the appropriate places, but hearing him so happy killed her. She wished vehemently she could make him so ecstatic, so care-free. All she did was bring him grief and frustration.

He kept pushing her to tell him about her daily doings, but she shied away from the questions. She'd done nothing but shoot up heroin, and go to Mark's house to buy more heroin.

Soon, she began avoiding his calls altogether. She was so ashamed of what she'd become; she was afraid he'd hear it in her voice. He'd always known her so well.

.

When she didn't pick up a couple times a day, he thought nothing of it. When she didn't pick up for days at a time, he felt hurt, but made no mention of it and assumed she was busy. When a week went by: he panicked. He called her cell phone, he left dozens of recordings on her voicemail, he sent message after message to her email; nothing.

He called the mansion soon after and Kitty answered the phone: "Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters, this is Kitty spea-"

"Kitty, it's Remy," he cut her off; desperation made his timbre coarse. "Where is Rogue? She won' answer none of my calls-"

"Remy? Where have you been? We thought Rogue was with you! We've been-"

He heard a muffled argument through the earpiece. His vision swam. Rogue wasn't there, Rogue was _gone_.

His mind inevitably wandered to the night she'd briefly told him about the state she'd been after Apocalypse's attack, how sullen and depressed she had become. She'd told him things never went back to being normal and that in a moment of weakness she'd almost ended her life. She'd also told him (albeit reluctantly) that he was the one thing that truly made her happy. What if...what if she really _couldn't _survive without him?

"Where is Rogue," Wolverine snarled. "You pulled this shit once before, bub, but I let you go. That won't be happening a second time-"

Remy was terrified and furious. "Listen to y'self y' damn idiot! Why would I call here if I had Rogue? If she was with me we'd be long gone!"

Wolverine was silent for an immeasurable amount of time. "She's been gone for five days and I can't sniff her out. I can't find her, I don't know what to do."

"I'll be on de next flight out." He slammed down the phone and fought back hysteria. Five days…five days.

He made good on his word and drove to the airport.

.

When she woke Remy was holding her head up as he rinsed her off with warm water. The bubbles in the basin tickled her arms and legs.

"I'm gonna wash yo' hair next, a'ight?"

She forced a nod. She felt his soaking gloves support her neck. His other hand lathered her hair with shampoo. He lowered her slightly and the water rinsed away the suds.

"Remy-"

.

Remy spoke with the professor, it was the first time he'd actually been _invited _inside the wealthy-looking place.

With a grave voice Xavier explained to him that the psyches in Rogue's mind made it difficult to pinpoint her. He'd keep trying, he said, and meanwhile, Remy and the others could join Logan in scouring the city.

Remy was out the door and on his bike before Xavier could say anything further.

.

"Remy?" He held her as they drove. She looked out the window and saw the trees whipping past. "Where are we goin'?"

He wept.

.

He visited her everyday at the same time. For the first month she wouldn't even come out of her room. She would hear from some of the girls that he stood in the lobby for two hours every time, and then left the fresh bouquet of magnolias on the table, where he knew she'd receive them.

She hated him for a long time. She was aching and hungry for something they wouldn't let her have. She couldn't touch anymore, she was in pain, she convulsed, and so she hated him.

.

Remy caught up with the Wolverine eventually, and together they searched the streets of New York; leaving no club, store, dumpster, or car unturned. They went door to door and Remy used the picture of Rogue in his wallet to show the people; Wolverine sniffed them out just to make sure. Kitty, Nightcrawler, and Amara took one side of town; Ororo, Scott, and Bobby searched another.

Nightfall came. The kids went home but Remy and Logan stayed out until the wee hours of the morning. Eventually, they had no choice but to return to the mansion for food and rest before they collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

.

Seeing her hooked up to all of those wires and machines was agony.

He fantasized about freeing her from it all and just taking her away. They'd go someplace warm and tropical; maybe Hawaii, and he'd treat her so good. He'd give her everything she wanted, and even things she didn't ask for. All of his ideas of how to get around her skin would be a reality, they'd make love in a luxurious hotel on the beach. He'd buy her margaritas and other sweet, alcoholic beverages, and when they were drunk he'd somehow carry her back to their room. In the warm darkness, they would confess their undying love beneath the big moon.

Remy started at the sound of wheels on the floor. He turned and Xavier was there.

"I'm coming to block that man from Rogue's conscious thoughts," he explained. He seemed saddened by the thought.

Remy held Rogue's gloved hand while Charles closed his eyes and raised his hand above her forehead.

.

When the second month came round Remy was still visiting her every day, and she was still refusing to see him. He would just sit outside her door for hours: speaking to her and hoping she was listening. Sometimes she blared the t.v., sometimes she began talking with the other girls in an effort to drown him out. She hurt him because she was still hurting, she wanted someone to blame. And Remy, being the self-judging man he was; let her. He completely took full credit for her addiction. If he'd said something earlier, maybe things would have been different.

But he hadn't, and the woman he was in love with wanted nothing to do with him.

.

There wasn't much that came to mind when she tried thinking of her last binge. She recalled wanting Remy more than air- but he never came; heroin became her only companion. And then the day everything fell apart, she remembered going to school with her friends; who, by this point knew something was wrong with her, and she remembered walking in a daze- like she hadn't really been there, and then she was at Mark's apartment and his lips were on her neck and she held a needle in her shaking hand.

After that, things came to her in washed out flashes. Mark's hands on her breasts, and she pushing him away. Heroin binge. Mark's hand in her panties, and she pushing him away. Drug deal; exchanging money with the customers. Heroin binge. Mark pulling her shirt over her head, and she pushing him away. Heroin binge. Drug deal; exchanging money with the customers.

Then she was outside with Mark on the porch. Corey had been chatting away in her mind and she hadn't cared. Her legs had been cold, Mark's tongue was in her mouth. She knew, from some detached place in the sky, that he wouldn't stop until he got in her pants, and that eventually he was going to rape her and she'd be too high to do anything about it.

She could remember waiting for the revulsion and fear to crop up with this thought; it never did.

There was a growl and a French curse and then she felt the red warmth of Mark's blood. There were arms around her; petting her, pleading with her, she felt their tears on her own face. She looked up and saw red-on-black. She breathed in and smelled cigarettes mixed with cinnamon. She'd felt herself smile.

.

For the first half of the third month she came out to see him, albeit begrudgingly, and the look on his face made some of her anger dissipate, but only a small amount. The way his eyes blazed and his grin widened, and the way he just…glowed: it was too perfect a picture for the hate to burn as hotly in her heart. He loved her; he loved her more than anyone she'd ever known.

She turned right back around and heard him fall to his knees. She was sobbing before she got back to her room. The emotion and dedication leaping from off of him- she didn't deserve it. And though the pain of withdrawal was no longer sharp, it was still there: a constant ache in her bones. They said eventually the physical cravings would go away, but the mental ones never would. She'd have to fight her whole life not to give in.

She wanted so badly to give in.

The second half of the third month was the complete opposite. She came out every day and they chatted; though nothing serious was ever brought up. They understood they'd have to hash things out eventually, but for the time being- while things were still delicate and easily ruined; they left well enough alone.

And when she told him about the friends she'd made and the progress she and the professor were having with her absorption; Remy's eyes stayed glued to her face and he memorized every inch of her in detail.

When she asked him about it he'd simply said: "It gets lonely at night. Sometimes, if I stare at y' long enough y' in my dreams."

She fell in love with him all over again.

.

When her first morphine drip was lowered she turned murderous. She scratched and bit and pulled and demanded they let her go. Her face was pale, her eyes were not her eyes. She clawed at her skin and Remy pinned her hands to the side. She cursed him and threw every secret he'd ever told her back in his face, and didn't stop until he crumbled beneath the pummeling of her words and left the room.

She wept in utter relief and held him tight when he returned a few hours later.

.

Her vision was unfocused at best, but she could still read the sign when Remy pulled into the parking lot.

'Rehabilitation Center' was all she could make out, but that was more than enough. She cried and tried to run. He held her tight, and half-carried half-dragged her to the door. She kicked him and bucked in his embrace. He was strong until the tears increased and she began to beg.

"Please, Rems, don't leave me here!" Her hands went over his stomach. "Ah'll never do it again, Ah promise! Please don't leave me- do you remember what happened the last time you left me alone?"

There were tears rolling down his cheeks. His mouth was firm and his eyes were closed for a very long time.

"Ah love you, baby, Ah love you so much! Don't leave me, Ah need you!"

For a second she saw him weaken, but then his frame turned back into stone. He threw her over his shoulder and carried her through the doors.

"Marie Darkholme," he said to the receptionist over Rogue's screams.

Two attendants came and held each of her arms.

"Fuck ya!" She seethed with rage. "The fuck ya think ya are? Call my Mama! She'll get me out of here, she's the only one that loves me! Ya good for nothin' piece a shit! Ya ain't worth the cologne ya steal ya fuck up! Ah hate ya! Ah hope ya fuckin' die! Ah wish Julien had finished ya off! Ah wish Ah never fuckin' met ya!"

They gave Remy a sympathetic nod and took her away.

To this day, he can still hear her screams echoing down the hallway.

.

He and Logan found her on the third day of the search. She'd been sitting outside on a porch step; wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt. There was a man next to her, and his mouth was seared to hers. A hand held her breast, the other was creeping up her smooth thigh.

Skin on skin. _Touch_. Remy could only stare, his anger boiled up but Wolverine was the one to attack the man.

Rogue only stared on blankly; not even flinching when some blood from the man's lip splattered across her cheek. Her expression did not change when Wolverine through the half-conscious man through the apartment door.

And then she'd looked at him; and his gut clenched because she did not recognize him. Her pupils were so dilated he couldn't see the emerald of her irises.

He held her and asked her why. His tears fell on her and she'd patted his back absently. He promised her that whatever happened with that _bâtard _didn't matter and that she was still the love of his life and that he would take care of her and never, _ever _let her get hurt again.

With a laugh she asked him who he was and why he was crying, and in the same breath she offered him a hit of that 'magic shuga'.

.

He carried her from the medlab into the bathroom. He shut the door and peeled away the dirty shirt she'd been wearing, and threw it to the floor. She tried apologizing for all the horrible things she'd spat at him the other day, and for the thousandth time he brushed away her worries and kissed her forehead.

The muscles in her legs were too cramped up for her to hold her own weight, so he lowered her gently into the warm water and supported her head.

She drifted off, and when she woke she was dressed in sweatpants and one of his sweaters. They were in a car, he held her while they drove.

"Remy?" Her warm breath hit his neck, she ached to kiss him. "Where are we goin'?"

The trees whipped by and something soft and jazzy played quietly.

He wept, and then there was screaming and hatred.

.

She was released at the beginning of the fourth month, and Remy was waiting for her outside; grinning and adjusting his shirt nervously. She laughed at him and kissed him fiercely. The pull was barely there.

They went out as both a celebration of her freedom, as well as an early birthday dinner. She'd be turning eighteen in a matter of weeks, and Remy confided in all seriousness that he planed on proposing.

And as she sat there: completely absorbed in his words- he told her his dream. He told her about their honeymoon on a warm beach, and how they'd visit Louisiana so his family could finally meet the _fille _he'd talked so much about.

"And maybe my _Tante _Mattie will be able to put some meat back on dem bones." He winced. "I sure hope y' gain yo' breasts back soon-"

She threw her fork at him.

.

The lure of heroin never left her. It was an omnipresent yearning in her life, it carved away her insides and made her feel empty. The physical chains to the drug were no longer there, but the mental ones were, and at times she thought she might cave underneath the desire to invite the monster back into her veins.

But she didn't. Remy was always more than enough to fill that emptiness and make her whole.

* * *

Grr. This was NOT supposed to be posted until I got my act together and worked on TIAD, but I just couldn't help myself! (You jinxed me with all your talk of 'self-restraint', **aiRo**!...oh, and did ya notice the happy ending?)

This story and the chapters within are the result of my never-ending playlist of _Coldplay_. Each installment is based on the feelings a certain song made me experience. I will post the title of the song at the end of each chapter.

The information on Heroin addiction, use, and withdrawal are thanks to a health-nerd friend of mine and the internet. Links will be posted on my website. (eventually that is)

Song: _Violet Hill _from the album: _Viva la Vida or Death and All His Friends_

Next time: three hearts, two bodies.

Feedback is encouraged.


	2. Three Hearts, Two Bodies

**A/N: **Personally, I don't think the upcoming warning is necessary, as there is nothing graphic and/or explicit in regards to slash. However, the last thing I want to do is alienate any of my lovely readers, so here it is: There is _some _slash, but it's hinted at more than actually written out in detail. Kissing is present, but I hope you anti-slash-ers out there will (please?) be able to overlook the _slight _slash and enjoy.

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_There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness. —Friedrich Nietzsche_

.

She was there again, the woman he'd come to find himself drawn to night after night. She was dressed like she usually was: in something black, short, and tight. The colored lights wrapped around her body in a seductive rainbow and she worked the floor. Her hips swayed in a way he'd never seen; her gyration made other women envious.

The ivory streak in her mahogany tresses caught up the lights and changed from blue, to red, to green, then back again. His mouth watered in anticipation as he crossed the floor, weaving through sweaty bodies and grinding couples. Some reached out and ran their hands up and down his body.

His sights were set on her, and her only.

.

_She met him and things changed: he didn't hold her at arm's length like her family did, he thought it was cool instead of un-lady like that she knew how to wield a shotgun. He respected her boundaries, but at the same time grinded them down._

_Mama and Auntie didn't approve of her spending so much time with 'that boy'. She hadn't cared._

.

He reached his destination. He saw her gaze flicker over him— a sultry, undressing look. It made his collar turn stifling; she undid his cool demeanor with just one action, and he had to admit he resented her for it.

It was supposed to be the other way around, it was _always _the other way around. Remy LeBeau hooked the women, he made them throw caution to the wind, he made them want him so badly they ached, and only then would he satiate their needs and wants and by then, he was too far under their skin for them to detach. They loved him and he left them, and it was a lifestyle that Remy had become used to years ago; it was what he knew.

And maybe that was part of the reason he somewhat dreaded the nightly excursions with her. This woman: with her heavily-lidded eyes and glossy curls (he often tangled his hands in her hair when he was inside of her; her sex was sometimes to overwhelming— he'd lost control several times) and her red, red lips, beckoning to him with all of their sensuality from across the room, and her body…_dieu_. It was like nothing he'd ever touched, nothing he'd ever _seen_! Her shapely figure was nothing less than a man's most heated fantasy; she smelled like fragranced rain and the sweetest hot chocolate.

He approached her, finally too frustrated for simply _watching _the way she melted with the beat. His devil eyes caused her spectators and would-be suitors to back down; she was all his for the taking. He felt the familiar drying of his mouth and pounding of his boiling blood. She was a temptress, she didn't play by the rules. He wasn't supposed to be this enraptured this quickly, or even at all. He wasn't supposed to think about her when he slept, or when there was another warm body pressed against him.

He ran his hand through her hair, effectively revealing more of her face beneath the white bangs. She was smirking at him, but she did not stop dancing. She touched his shoulders and chest and stomach; his muscles clenched and her smirk grew.

He brought her close and kissed her so harshly their teeth clashed. He wanted to wipe away her arrogant smirk, he wanted to prove to both her and himself that her spell hadn't been cast over him. He was more powerful and influential, he could charm the robe off of a nun and seduce the immortal keeper of the tithe. She was nothing, she meant nothing.

He tasted blood mixing between their mouths; he couldn't determine whose it was— nor did he care. His hands were feeling her roughly, his touch was brutal and his methods cruel.

He wanted her to hurt.

.

_As a child she ran through the cornfield down the road from her home and pretended she could fly. She read every single book on aerodynamics, planes, and the mechanics of flight that her school library offered. When she devoured those she moved on to the city library and spent her weekends in solitude. _

_Father was proud, but Mother thought she was strange. Mother wanted her to dress in pink and try out for the cheerleading squad, Mother wanted her to go on dates with boys and dream of marriage. She couldn't; Mother cried._

.

They had this game going, the two of them. She would nibble on his ear and make him crazy, he would bite her neck and make her horny. There was never any communication. Even when they'd first met— it was all about pressing their bodies together, it was about suggestive winks and purposeful nods and back corner fucks; always in the dark. He'd never seen her in the light.

When he tried introducing himself or making small talk she smothered his words with her alcohol-tasting mouth. He was all for 'no strings', but not to the extreme she took things, and not with her. It'd be nice if they could talk afterwards, if they could at least get the other's number! But his mysterious belle would only kiss his cheek and right her wardrobe before returning to the floor or leaving the club altogether.

Some nights she didn't speak to him at all and went to the back with another man. Those nights were the worst.

He didn't understand her, because when a one-night stand turned into nightly happenings, it was expected that _some _sort of connection be made. He didn't even know her name. Or her age, or where she lived, what she did for a living. He knew her voice was husky and deep, but only because of the stifled moans and sighs she sometimes let escape in his ear.

He wasn't getting attached; he was getting possessive— and that was almost worse.

.

_The funeral ended and Mama took her away. She couldn't stop crying, Mama comforted her with reassurances of her 'gift' . Her Auntie hugged her carefully and murmured promises of future greatness._

_She didn't want the glory, she wanted her best friend back._

.

She took his hand in hers and they weaved their way to the back. Some nights she allowed foreplay, most nights she did not. And as he felt her working on his belt he knew that she was being her usual, impatient self. She liked it rough and against the wall; if he slowed down or tried being tender she would pull his head back by his hair and increase the pace herself.

She was quick and accurate. The condom was on and her thong was off before he could even start kissing her. She enjoyed his kisses; her tongue constantly mingled with his in feverish jabs and nibbled bottom lips. He soon deduced that she liked the connection of their mouths because it prevented speech.

And when the big moment came and his vision blurred and so much left him and went into her he thought he'd collapse— she waited until her breathing calmed and then she was leaving him.

Seemingly without thought, his hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. She turned around and he stood there: with anger in his eyes and with his dick hanging from his pants.

"I don' even know y' name." He hated the pleading in his tone, he hated her for being so damn alluring.

She pried his hand from her wrist and continued her retreat. He balked; and then he grew furious.

He'd play her fucking Cinderella game if that was what she wanted, and with a zip of his fly, Remy followed her.

.

_When she turned sixteen, her dream came true through mutation. _

_When her eighteenth birthday came— she joined the air force. _

_Twenty came and went; she fell in love. _

_She committed suicide on the anniversary of her twenty-third year on earth. Minutes later, she was re-born._

_._

Remy became Gambit in the shadows of the night. He crept along brick walls with feline grace, and listened for the click of her heels against the pavement sidewalks to determine her proximity. He could see her clearly in the night thanks to his light-sensitive eyes. He wondered fleetingly if she felt his burning gaze on her, but he pushed the thought aside and waited until she entered the apartment building before making his move.

He was the best at his trade, and so she remained clueless.

He found the mail boxes, and his eyes ran over the names. _Kelsey Smith, Monique Reynolds, Brian Huffman, Noah Lynn, Lee Anders, Carol Danvers, Reid Calloway_. None of them suited her, finding her would have to be a process of elimination, and it was going to take awhile. He couldn't take away the male names: because what if she lived with her boyfriend? He couldn't take away the unlikely ones: because what if the apartment was in a roommate's name?

Jaw tightening in frustration, Remy decided to walk away. At least he knew the general vicinity in which she lived, it would certainly make finding her a lot easier.

He wasn't ashamed to stalk. On the contrary, he looked forward to seeing the shock on her face when she saw him outside of her building. He wondered if she could keep up the frigid act then?

.

_The animosity between them sprang up quickly. They were polar opposites: one, a villain; the other, a hero. One, shrouded in earthly beauty; the other, as fair and bright as an angel. One, a taker of life and ability; the other, a giver of safety and hope._

_Their eyes connected from different sides of the battlefield. Opposites attracted._

.

Remy understood the next day the full extent of the phrase: 'waking up like a kid on Christmas.' He couldn't recall the last time he woke up looking forward to something. Most mornings were spent trying to fall back asleep and purging the thoughts that had plagued him with insomnia the night prior.

But on that day he was up before noon, and showered and dressed before one. He gulped down some scalding coffee and munched on toast as he mounted his bike and swerved out of the side alley. He felt like a madman bent on following some poor girl and making something out of nothing, and like Odysseus sailing to Troy; he couldn't help but shake the thought that he was about to embark on some impossible, never-ending quest.

Most men in his position would count their blessings and accept that just fucking the girl would have to be good enough, but Remy wasn't most men. He'd fought tooth and nail to survive, he was more stubborn than what was probably healthy, he didn't accept the cards that were given to him in life: he stole and cheated until he had the royal flush. And for him, 'good enough' was not, well— good enough. He could survive with the worst, of course, but he would always strive to have the best: the best clothes, the best vehicles, the best women, the best wine, the best sexual experience a person ever, and would ever— have.

The mysterious vixen he'd come to know in dark clubs was more difficult, he would give her that, but she wasn't un-crackable. When a thief broke into the _Louvre _successfully, words like 'impossible' were omitted from his vocabulary.

He would have her, and it might be difficult and she might fight him for all she was worth, but he'd win. He'd capture her heart like all the others, he'd revel in the success of the chase and the glory in knowing she wanted him like all the persons before her, and then he would move onto the next bigger and better challenge awaiting him.

.

_When Mama gave her the assignment she was almost giddy. Knocking off her worst enemy (they'd 'had at it' numerous times before) was a delicious thought she let herself get lost in._

_She broke into the apartment and heard the shower going. Her glove fell carelessly to the floor._

_She entered the steamy bathroom, but before she could react a hand wrapped around her neck. Her enemy was naked, and just as surprised as she._

_Instead of panicking or struggling to get free, she only watched the water gather between her enemy's breasts and blushed at the pinkness of her nipples._

_The black dots swam over her vision and everything tunneled to a far away point she couldn't reach. All went silent. _

.

She came out of the building the next day in a flurry. Her bag was trailing behind her on the ground and only one of her arms was through the sleeve of her white hoodie. Her hair was bone straight and pulled back high; he liked the way it bounced when she moved. She was sipping coffee from a silver mug and looking down at her phone impatiently. She didn't cease walking as she dug through her bag— seemingly searching for something.

She was beautiful. The kind of beautiful he'd thought only goddesses could be.

The only make-up she wore was clear gloss and mascara; it was a different, but not at all unpleasant change from her usual smoky eye shadow and dark lipstick.

Remy straightened from his place leaning against the motorcycle and snubbed out his cigarette. He prepared his best grin and waited for her to approach him.

She walked right past him, like she'd never seen him in her life. He knew they only met in darkness and that when they did she was beyond drunk, but the blank stare she gave him led him to believe she truly didn't recognize him. His ego took a hit.

"Hey!" He jogged to her side. "Listen I know—"

"Not interested." She finally managed to shrug her other arm into the sleeve and right her bag. There was a white ticket in her manicured hand, she was obviously late for her bus.

His mouth fell open for a half a second before he composed himself and tried again. He nearly ran to keep up with her strut.

"Don' y' recognize me?"

She gave him an impatient once-over and wrinkled her nose. "Um, no?" Her eyes were as clear and icy as the winter air surrounding them.

"Come on, _chére_, Remy been lookin' for y' all night—" He made the mistake of putting his hand on her narrow shoulder, and she shrank away from him like his touch was acidic.

"I swear to god if you touch me again I'll fuck you up!" Her cheeks were red with fury and her stance was threatening.

He didn't understand why a simple touch bothered her when they'd been close as humanly possible more times than he could count, but he did not push it. Was he really unfamiliar to her?

"S'me," He was jogging to keep up again, "from de club?"

His vixen stopped in her tracks and he double backed. Her face went from showing suspicion, to understanding, to rage, and then back to suspicion. "You've got the wrong girl." Her voice was thick, as if fighting back tears. He could feel the betrayal, exhaustion, and sadness bouncing against his empathy.

"_Mais _I saw y' come here last night—"

She gave him a funny look.

"Dat is, I made sure y' got home safely." He grinned impishly, shrugging when she glared him down.

"How _noble _of you, but like I said: you've got the wrong girl." She snorted, then ran a hand through her hair. "I really have to go—"

The city bus pulled up, stopped at the corner, then continued on its way.

"God fucking dammit!" She turned to run for it, but despite her previous warning, he caught her arm gently.

"I can give y' a ride." He jutted his thumb back to where his bike was parked.

Her breath came out in white puffs. She looked at the gleaming motorcycle skeptically, and then at him. Her eyes narrowed, as if she was trying to see through his sunglasses.

"Fine. But I meant what I said earlier about not touching me." She tore her arm from his grasp and headed towards the bike.

He watched the sway of her curvaceous hips and ample backside; the red of his irises pulsed victoriously behind his shades.

.

_Her first conscious thought was that she was still breathing. She took inventory of her body and found no wounds. In fact, the downy blanket beneath her cheek felt like clouds._

_She groaned, and sat up with her hand on her forehead. A migraine the size of a small earthquake was raging in her left temple, and she felt another presence in the room._

_She whipped around to find her enemy's curious gaze on her. She was immediately alert, in a second she was on her feet, fists raised._

_The blonde rolled her eyes. "Lay back down, skunk head. If I wanted you dead you'd be dead."_

_Something like embarrassment crept across her cheeks; she heard the truth in the woman's words and sat at the edge of the bed._

"_Why _am _ah alive?" Maybe she was pushing her luck, but she liked the sound of her enemy's voice._

_The blonde smiled a secret smile and pulled her robe tighter. "Because I wanted you to be."_

_It was a good enough answer for her._

.

He felt the concentrated warmth resting between her thighs. Her body fit snugly against his. He sped up for the sole purpose of making her scared enough to wrap her arms around him, but the moment never came. She only cried out gleefully, and instead of clinging to him she threw her arms in the air.

He slowed down, telling himself he wasn't concerned for her safety.

The girl was _fou_.

.

_Mama interrupted her humming._

"_Was the mission successful?"_

_The smile left her lips. She'd forgotten all about there ever even being a mission. She'd spent her night chatting comfortably with Carol (she was no longer 'the enemy' or 'Ms. Marvel' anymore) in the quaint warmth of her apartment._

_Mama's eyes narrowed. She made some excuse and told her she'd be going out later._

_She was meeting Carol for drinks later on at the bar._

.

Her hair was windblown but her eyes were bright. "That was incredible," she gushed. "I _love _going fast!"

He smirked at the flushing of her cheeks and leant in closer. "I know."

The excited grin left her mouth and was replaced with something he couldn't discern. "I wasn't lying earlier when I said you had the wrong girl." She was walking away again and he couldn't let her.

"We get drunk, _chére_, but not _dat _drunk." He sauntered nearer and their warm breath mingled. "B'sides—" his hand went to her waist, " I could _never _forget de t'ings y' did to me." He waited for her lusty response, but his words had the exact opposite effect.

Tears sprang into her eyes and she shoved him back. He was surprised by her strength.

"It wasn't me." She shook her head, and glared down at the ground.

He raised his eyebrow. Playing hard to get was cute and all, but she was trying his patience. "Den who was it?" he finally snapped. "Y' twin sister?"

She laughed, but no humor rang through. "I'm Carol, the woman you—her name is Rogue. She's my— _sister_." Her lip trembled and she wiped her tears away angrily. "How could she _do _this to me?" Her hands went to either side of her head. " She promised—"

The Cajun shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Now, now." He patted her arm helplessly. "Don' cry, p'tite. T'was an honest mistake." He grew more bold and rested his arm across her shoulders. "Let Remy take y' someplace for coffee, _hein_?"

She sniffled pitifully and attempted to compose herself. "No. I have to get to work."

Ah, then the waitress outfit made sense.

"And anyway," the anger was back on her features, "she's a fucking adult. It's none of my business, right?"

He had a feeling he'd just caused a lot of trouble for his mystery woman— no, his 'Rogue'. "I can tell y' care for her, y' jus' worryin' like any good _sœur _would." He gave her a smile, but she was past the point of being placated.

"My shift has already started," she bit out. "Thanks for the ride."

"Wait!" She turned back around, and he fished for the best wording. "Rogue, is she, uh, at home?"

Carol's fists shook at her sides. Instead of answering him she stormed inside of the restaurant.

He frowned, because there had been more than just sisterly affection rolling off of that girl.

.

_She remembered the night because it had been so hot and muggy. She'd been complaining because the cloth of her gloves kept sticking to her fingers, and her long-sleeved shirt allowed no room for air circulation._

_With a wicked smile, Carol took hold of her shirt and ripped it clean away._

"_Hey!" She threw her arms across her chest. "What the hell?"_

_Her blonde companion laughed, and then her hands went to Rogue's jean-clad hips. Her grin changed, it became more affectionate, more full. _

_She was going to pull away, but her hands seemed to lose all ability to move and rested limply on Carol's shoulders. They were so close she could feel the other woman's breathing._

"_Ah'm not, we're not—" She desperately searched for the words to explain to Carol her heterosexuality._

"_You talk too much, skunk head."_

_She pulled her close and kissed her until the draw of life and power became too much._

_Rogue felt dizzy, but not because of the new whisper swirling around in her head._

.

When Carol's shift ended, she went with some of the girls from work to Harry's Hideaway. The food was great and the company even better, and there was no need to dress up. She changed into the blouse and denim pants she carried in her shoulder bag and hitched a ride with Jean.

"Why don't you ever bring Rogue?" Kitty asked as they sat at their usual table in the back corner. "We've been working together for eight months now, and we _still _haven't met your sister."

The other friends murmured their agreement and Carol gazed into her drink. "Rogue has a crazy work schedule—"

"I'm sure she could take off every once in a while. Does she plan on coming to the Christmas party? It's another three weeks away, if she asked for time off now I know they'd give it to her."

Carol shrugged and forced a smile. "Let's stop talking about her, okay?" She grabbed Jean's left hand and held it up for all to see. "Let's start talking about you and Scott instead!"

Jean blushed, the girls went crazy, and Carol slumped in relief.

.

_They met in secret for the most part. They went to restaurants hours out of town so that there was no worry of their relationship being discovered._

_Carol rented hotel rooms often, and within the four walls they used extra bed sheets and gloves to see just how far they could push the limits of Rogue's skin._

"_Ah wish we didn't have to stop," she admitted—her cheeks like blossoming roses, her breathing heavy._

"_Eventually, we won't have to," Carol promised._

_Rogue believed her._

.

That night, after Carol closed her eyes and the blanket of sleep faded all of her senses; she met Rogue in the middle of their mindscape.

The belle ran towards her, glee was apparent in her features. "Baby Ah missed ya!" She threw her arms around the taller woman and pressed her lips against her neck. Rogue loved it when sleep came, because they got to be together. "How was your day?" She spoke as she pulled Carol's sleeve down her shoulder.

The blonde didn't respond to any of her advances, and Rogue soon noticed.

"Are you really so obsessed with touch?"

Rogue's smile slipped from her lips. Fear clutched her. "What are you talkin' about?" But she knew exactly what her lover meant, and she was going to kill that Cajun the next time she saw him.

"I met 'Remy' today." She pushed Rogue's hands away and fought back tears. "He seemed to know you pretty well."

"Baby it ain't what ya think-"

Carol spun on her, blue eyes blazing. "Just like it wasn't with Longshot? Or Scott? He was my best friend's boyfriend, Rogue! Jesus Christ!"

Rogue lost her temper, too. "Like ya haven't slipped up! Ah've had skanks mistake me for you more times than Ah can count!"

It was the same argument they'd had again and again.

Rogue could touch after years of being shrouded in cloth and fear; she wanted to experiment and feel and enjoy the sense that so many took for granted, but Carol could not accept that.

Carol wanted Rogue to understand the immensity of her sacrifice, she wanted Rogue to touch her and only her, she wanted Rogue to hate men as she did.

Rogue had her desires and Carol had hers, but neither could come to a consensus.

.

_Mama found out, she always did, and Rogue ran away from the only home she'd ever known at eighteen years old._

_Carol picked her up from a park and took her back to the apartment._

"_They'll find us. Mama's furious."_

"_I know." She continued driving, as if the thought hadn't bothered her._

"_Carol! What're we gonna do?" She wanted the older woman to lose her cool just once._

"_We'll go to my parents house up in Boston. I'll tell them you're a colleague, okay?"_

_Rogue was instantly comforted, and even more so when she felt Carol's free hand slip around her gloved one._

_"I'm going to take care of you, Rogue. No matter what." Her grip on Rogue's hand tightened, and her jaw squared. She meant that statement with every molecule of her being._

.

The discovery of Carol was an extreme disappointment, but it was not enough to deter his mission. The very next day he found himself outside of the apartment at the same exact time, and in the same exact spot. Carol should have been coming out soon, and he was going to cajole and bother until she let him see Rogue. And if she still refused, he'd simply wait until she left, and then march right up to her apartment and find the girl himself.

The woman who came through the old, yellowed doors set his stomach to jumping. There was no mistake in identifying who she was; the styles of the sisters were as different as night and day. Where Carol was light, fresh, and sweet; Rogue was dark, brooding, and mysterious. She came out of the door in a black, chemise-looking dress with a thin belt resting about her hips, and a dark leather jacket over it. Her heeled ankle boots were also black, and extremely sexy if he did say so himself.

Her hair was loose and curly, but even more beautiful, as it wasn't teased like it usually was at nightclubs. He wanted to touch it then, to know what it would feel like without all the hairspray and product. Her make-up was also a bit different: her top liner was an angled, black line done thick, as was her mascara. Beneath her eyes was bare, he liked it.

She looked up just as he straightened, and she froze. A multitude of expressions crossed her face: shock, dread, embarrassment, and then finally: fury.

She stomped down the concrete stairs and click-clacked over to where he stood. Her eyes were like green fire. She was seething with rage and he found himself more than aroused by the fact. She pulled off wrath so perfectly, like she'd practiced the emotion in the mirror before showing it to the real world.

"What the _hell _were ya thinkin'?" She slapped him harshly on the shoulder, he noted that she wasn't as strong as her sister. "Carol isn't speakin' to me because of _your _stupidity!"

She was southern, and even more gorgeous in person than he could have ever imagined; he grinned.

"And what are ya cheesin' about, ya damn fool? Ah oughta have my friend Logan teach ya a lesson about followin' ladies home—"

He pulled her against his chest so tightly she couldn't breathe. She glared up at him and he was drawn in by her perfume. It was the first time they'd been this near and she hadn't reeked of alcohol and other men's cologne.

"Been real hard findin' y', _chére_. Y' sister didn't like me very much."

Her eyes narrowed. 'Ah don't have a— Oh."

She blushed, and the sight of her pale cheeks filling with color sent Remy into throes of laughter. So she was human after all! And despite her cold disposition and cruel ways—she still _felt_. She wasn't some emotionless, sex-crazed marble statue like he'd originally thought.

He smirked. "Sure is nice seein' y' in de daylight," he drawled.

"Oh shut up," she rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth were twitching into a begrudging smile. "Ya should be thankin' me ya know. Ah'm nothin' but a world a trouble."

"Well in dat case," his hand moved from her waist to caress her backside, "dis is for de better. Cause so am I."

The fire crackling between them was irresistible; he'd felt it from the very beginning and she was feeling it, too. Not even she could ignore the attraction, not even she could walk away. He used that to his advantage, and kissed her. He felt her mouth against his mouth and he slackened, too.

"Can we go inside?" he breathed against her lips as his hands parted her leather jacket and cupped her breasts.

She broke the kiss and gazed up at him in a daze. "Ah- Ah don't think that'd be a good idea." She separated herself from the erotic arms of the Cajun in an attempt to clear her thoughts. "Ah have to get to work, and Carol-"

"Need a ride?"

She turned to him, and then she grinned with a cock of her hip.

.

_Rogue gasped when they entered Carol's childhood room._

"_Oh baby, this is so cute!"_

_The blonde rolled her eyes and looked at the pink unicorns and frilly pillows in disgust. "My _Mother _decorated all of this. She never really let me be me." She laughed bitterly. "If she knew I was a lesbian…I'd, I'd kill myself."_

_Rogue winced. _

_"Did you hear the way she told me you'd be staying in the downstairs guest room? She's always judging me, and I've always tried so hard to please her—"_

_Rogue's face saddened, and she rested her cheek on Carol's shoulder blade. "Don't matter what she thinks, baby. Just be glad she cares about ya, and just focus on what we have."_

"_Rogue—she can never know, _never_."_

_They held each other amid the dusty ballerina costumes and never-used Barbie dolls._

.

He watched the way she won over each customer with her southern manners and quick knowledge. He followed her while she dusted off each record with the utmost care and as she swept the wooden aisles. She blossomed in the musty space of the record shop: she smiled often and laughed hard; she even made time to stop and give him little winks or engage in the witty banter that seemed so easy for them.

They discussed the likes of _AC/DC_, _Iggy and the Stooges, The Cure, _and even _Goya Dress _and _Jimi Hendrix_. Her tastes in both music and southern food was phenomenal. He found himself gazing into her eyes while she discussed the issues of Global Warming and the war in Iraq— using her hands and colored curses to emphasize her points.

He was completely glued to her husky voice. He took in everything she said and processed it for later use. He told himself he was listening so intently to further his plans, but he really knew it was because the woman in front of him kept his interest, and it'd been a long, _long _time since a woman could achieve that. He wanted to know more about her.

"Age?"

She shrugged and stacked some more albums on the shelf. "A gentleman never asks a lady her age," she chided.

"Well I ain't a gentleman," he quipped, "so y' have to tell me."

She shook her head. "Too easy. Guess."

He leant back in the chair and rubbed the stubble on his chin. "Lemme see: no grey hair, but a lotta white. No wrinkles, but dem eyes— dey don' look so happy. Flat stomach, nice curves—"

She gave him a warning glance.

"Twenty-two," he finished.

She spun around with a raised eyebrow. "That's right." She turned back to her work. "And just how did ya know that?"

"Remy knows many t'ings,_ chére._ Many t'ings."

"No ya don't," she sat in the seat next to him, "Ah felt ya pinch my I.D earlier."

His mouth fell open, and she burst into sweet laughter.

"Your turn," she murmured as she pinched his chin. "Nice jaw, no greys—" She pursed her lips, and continued her examination. "Good build, lots of energy…" They both chuckled at that. "Twenty-nine."

His eyes pulsated. "Y' guessed dat?"

Chuckling, she leant closer, and his wallet appeared in between her pointer finger and thumb. "Nope. Ah pinched your wallet earlier, too."

.

"_Baby? Ya scared me!" Heavy breathing and a fearful whimper. _

"_Can't get rid of me _that _easily." A tired smile, and Carol managed to sit up._

_But Rogue held her head and brought it to her breast. "That's enough for today, shuga. Ah took a lot that time."_

_Two fluttering hearts in the sun drenched bedroom. Downy comforters and checkered window shades. _

"_That better not be guilt I hear," she warned weakly. "You know that I don't mind doing this, it's so worth it, Rogue." Mother was coming home soon, she knew that they needed to right their appearances soon… _

_But then came the heavy lids, long yawns. Embraces._

_Rogue couldn't help but wonder why Carol never asked if _she _minded the absorption, of having another mind crammed in hers. She wondered if, in the end, this whole thing was worth it at all._

.

When he looked at the clock he was surprised to see that it was already 8:00, and the belle's shift was over. Time had passed by so quickly, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had fun that hadn't involved a: getting plastered, b: fucking, c: accomplishing a heist, or d: all of the above. Good clean fun? The Cajun would have laughed at himself in the past if he'd known what would have happened that day. But he didn't regret it, not one damn minute of it.

She threw on her jacket and began locking up the shop. "Ah say we head over to _Medusa's _and get drunk. Whaddya think?" She gave him a smile as she locked the cash register.

He shrugged, and followed her through the door. The cold air hit them harshly, his lungs felt crystallized. The streetlamps only partially lit the dark streets, and Remy unconsciously stepped closer to Rogue. He would never admit that he was concerned with her safety, but he knew he'd protect her if need be.

"Don' know if I'm in de mood for dat tonight, _chére_. Why don' we ride over to y' place an'-"

"That's not a good idea." She glanced down to avoid his searching gaze, and kicked away a beer can with the toe of her boot. "Carol doesn't like people comin' over."

He threw his arms in the air in pure frustration. "If y' don' mind me sayin', what's her deal? Remy can sense vibes, and de vibes comin' off dat girl was…_strange_. She t'inks more of y' den a sister— if y' know what I mean."

She didn't answer, but her teeth clamped down painfully on her lip. She wanted so badly to tell Remy— to tell _anybody_ her story: her crazy, bizarre, unbelievable story— but it wasn't just hers to tell. And what would Carol think? Carol didn't want anyone to know about their 'special circumstances', but Rogue completely disagreed. Telling people: their friends, their family; would be so much easier. The way they were living now was just a lie, and soon, they were going to get too far tangled in their web to ever escape.

She tilted her head and looked up at her companion, and a deep warmth filled her stomach. She liked this one, but she wasn't stupid, she knew what his game was. She'd dealt with men like him before, and she'd won.

Only, this time, she sort of _wanted _to play along. She liked the way Remy held her and his easy jokes; she ached when she thought of what he could do to make her mush in his hands; she sometimes entertained the thought of what being with him: actually _being _with him— no alcohol, no dark club, just being with him like they were then—would be like: with his arm over her shoulders and her body pressed just slightly against his to soak up his immense warmth. Just talking like friends. He was a companion with which she was compatible with.

"Den come over to my place." he noticed the flicker of indecision in her eyes, "Or will Carol be against dat, too?"

She glared at him. "Ya don't understand what you're talkin' about. Carol may be overprotective, but she's all Ah got." She looked away, only to feel his fingers guiding her chin back.

"She's not de only one out dere, _chére_. Y' alienatin' y'self by y' own doin'. She ain't y' master, y' got free will." He grinned and broke the contact, she hungered for more. "So come to my place an' we'll have a few drinks."

"And then?" she said skeptically.

His smirk was impish and his eyes were playful. "And den what happens, happens."

She swallowed, and weighed the decision. Should she? Or shouldn't she?

The decision was made for her as Remy led her towards his motorcycle.

.

______

Rogue remembered not liking the way Carol had looked that day: pale, haggard, and determined. She hadn't been glowing that day, the last day.

"Mother knows," she murmured. "She saw us when we were sleeping." She leant heavily on the window sill, using all her strength not to break down.

Rogue rushed up behind her, she felt helpless. "Ah'm so sorry, Carol. What did she say?"

The blonde cringed. "H-horrible things."

Rogue grew angry. "It doesn't matter, you're the most wonderful person Ah've ever met, and if she can't accept ya for who ya are then she ain't worth it."

Carol smiled, and turned into Rogue's hold. "Do you love me, Rogue? Really love me?"

"That's the dumbest question Ah ever heard," she deadpanned, but ran her fingers along Carol's spine. "'Course Ah do. Ah love ya more than anyone."

Carol's grip arms tightened around the belle. "We could be together forever, just you and me."

Rogue stiffened. "It's a bit soon to be decidin' that, don't ya think?"

Her lover turned violent, and threw Rogue against the wall. She flew out the window soon afterward.

.

Remy asked more questions as he made their drinks. "Mutation?"

"Absorption," she called out. She sat on his velvety couch with one leg crossed over the other. She noticed that there were no pictures of friends or family anywhere in the living room. "Ah take people's life force, and if they're a mutant— their powers."

"Permanently?"

She paused in mid-answer. "N-not always." She went back to running her eyes over his possessions, and hoped he would not pursue the topic any further.

He did not. Instead, he returned with two glasses in hand and sat next to his guest. "Cheers." He held his glass up.

"To what?"

He seemed to think. "To new beginnin's."

Her eyes narrowed pointedly but she clinked her glass with his anyway. "Ya like to test limits, don't ya, Cajun?"

He waggled his eyebrows, making her laugh.

More glasses were poured, and by midnight, both were inebriated.

"Ah have a suggestion," she slurred, and pulled him close by his collar, "Ah say we take our drinks to your bedroom." She licked the lobe of his ear and straddled his lap.

He'd never heard a better idea in all of his life, and showed her so by throwing her over his shoulder and racing to the bedroom.

"You're drunk!" She could barely speak through her giggles. "You're gonna fall and drop me!"

He deposited her on the bed and she squealed. He joined her soon after, and laid between her legs. His finger twisted a cinnamon and crème curl, and he smiled hotly.

"Been wantin' y' in my bed for a long time, p'tite."

She kicked off her boots and began working on his shirt. "Shut up."

And he did.

.

______

Carol returned later that night. Her face was streaked with tears, her hair was windblown, and her eyes were empty.

Rogue stood from her place on the bed and regarded her lover warily. "Ya hurt me, Carol." She held her bandaged wrist up for examination. "What the hell happened back there?"

The blonde staggered over to the belle and let her head fall to Rogue's shoulder. "I…I've been thinking, Rogue. I've been thinking about how much I love you— how much I never want to leave your side."

She slid her fingers down Rogue's smooth cheek and smiled. "We can become one, we can make it all better!"

Rogue backed away slowly, her eyes wide with fear. "Ya sick, baby. Ya ain't thinkin' straight." She began pulling the comforter back from the bed. "Here, lay down, shuga. We can talk about all this in the mornin'—"

"No." Her hand encircled Rogue's unharmed wrist. "We belong together. If I'm in you we don't have to worry about your skin anymore! I can protect you better! It'll solve everything, don't you see?"

Rogue ran to the door, but Carol swooped in from behind. She pressed her cheek against hers, and wrapped her bare arms around the belle's stomach.

Together forever.

Carol's presence overwhelmed Rogue, and they both fell to the ground in a crumpled heap; Carol's bare skin still pressed against Rogue's.

.

In the afterglow of lovemaking and drink, Rogue told Remy her story, the story she'd been wanting to tell for nearly four years.

Her salty tears mixed with the salty sweat on his chest, and her tale must have been more pathetic than even she thought, because when it was over there was true sympathy on Remy's face. And it wasn't another one of his acts, either. In fact, she was almost positive his pity was one of the few sincere emotions he'd had yet to show her.

She told herself his comforting words and hugs did nothing, but she would be lying.

And when she finished, they both sensed the change in the air.

"Ah think that this is a mistake," she confessed.

He brushed her hair back from her face and gave her a questioning look.

"This, _us_. It was fun for a while, Remy, but there was Ah reason Ah kept ya away. Nothin' can ever come of this."

He let his head rest on hers. "Did y' _want _somethin' to come of dis?"

She faced him and her emerald orbs seemed to overpower his crimson ones. "Yeah."

There was no fear of rejection, no hesitation or timidity in her voice. And he decided that she was the most beautiful, brave woman he'd ever met. And instead of gloating over the victory he'd wanted for so long, the Cajun instead began to scheme of ways to make her his, and _only _his.

.

______

It was almost like nothing changed, save for the fact that she was away from the world every other day, and she couldn't look at Carol and see her in the real world. She couldn't

really _____touch her or _really_____ kiss her; all their interaction took place in their mindscape, and only when they slept._

______

Rogue resented her for a year and a half, and still did after, but the emotion dissipated and faded so thoroughly the belle hardly ever thought of it. Carol was all she had, Carol was the only person who had truly ever loved her, and maybe she was right: they belonged together, forever.

______

.

In the months that followed the two became careless. Rogue began leaving Remy's apartment mere hours before it was Carol's turn to take over, and Remy left horrible, violet marks on her neck despite her severe warnings not to do such.

Something was forming between them, something neither of them wanted to acknowledge. When they stopped going to bars and started going to movies or staying home instead; they ignored it. When their sexual habits turned exclusive, they made up excuses. When they grew miserable thinking about their limited time together, they covered it up with sex and banter.

Rogue didn't love Remy, and Remy didn't love Rogue, and they both knew it, but they couldn't deny the potential, couldn't deny that they got along with the other more than they'd gotten along with anyone else.

"Remy?" She began to detangle herself from his arms and legs. "Ah should go, it's Carol's turn in a few hours."

He made the effort and raised his head, staring at the clock groggily. "S' only three. She don' gotta get up 'til eight." He yawned loudly and brought her back into his arms.

"Okay," she consented, stifling a yawn of her own. "But don't fall asleep, Ah really do have to get up, soon."

He grumbled something against her hair. She kept his nightmares away.

.

_The first months were all about experimentation. They found out early on that Carol could unlock the secret to Rogue's skin, and they both rejoiced in the discovery. Later came the next finding: Rogue could tap into Carol's abilities at anytime she chose, though the headaches caused by this act wasn't worth the trouble._

_Soon Rogue hungered. She walked down streets and shopped in grocery stores and stared at all the bare skin exposed to her eyes. Her power was controlled, but yet- she was still cut off from everyone else. Carol was the divider._

_But one summer day, Rogue met Longshot, and ached to feel his tanned muscles and hairy legs. She gave in, and took him home._

_It was then she made her third, and possibly, most important discovery: Carol couldn't see anything she did while locked away in her mind._

.

He woke to a flurry of screams and red sheets. He knew as soon as he looked into her eyes that the woman before him was Carol, and that she was naked and sobbing on the side of his bed, and that he'd fallen asleep: the exact thing Rogue had told him not to do.

He dressed quickly, and pondered his fate. He knew all about Carol's super strength and invulnerability, and he'd come into contact with her temper before. He wondered if she would kill him, and if Rogue would find his mauled body the next day.

To his surprise, she did not punch him through a wall when he squatted down to help her; she hid her face in his chest and wept.

"I…love…her so much and…and…she- she hurts me!" She looked up at him, accusations apparent in her gaze. "What's…so…different about you, h-huh?" Her chest heaved. "I…gave up everything for her…so we…so we could b-be together!"

He nodded in understanding and helped her to stand. "Mais y' never gave her a choice, Carol. Y' never asked what she wanted."

.

_It snowed the day they visited her body._

_She felt Carol's terror and revulsion as they entered the hospital room and saw her body: wrapped in a white gown and hooked up to a multitude of beeping machines._

_Rogue winced, and took a step back. "Let me put ya back, baby. Ya know Ah can do it."_

_Carol's anger was her only response, and with tears in her eyes, she left the 'sleeping' woman. Her tears were as much for Carol as they were for herself, because she couldn't shake the horrible feeling that she was letting life pass her by._

_That night she made sure Carol was locked away, and she got drunk. Belligerently so. She met a man with sunglasses who mistook her for Carol._

_"Carol!" he called over the blaring music._

_She'd turned to correct the mistake, but his shirt was unbuttoned and she could see the smoothness of his chest. The hunger returned. And she told him she wouldn't say anything if he didn't._

.

It snowed the day they went to the hospital. Their hands remained intertwined until they reached the room, and only then did Rogue shy away from Remy's embrace.

"It feels wrong to touch ya with her layin' there, ya know?" she explained with a nervous smile.

Remy showed all of his support in his encouraging nod and bright smile. "Y' doin' de right t'ing, _chére_. And Carol knows dat— whether she wants to admit it or not."

The belle went pale and stared at Remy a little longer before nodding.

With trembling hands, Rogue rested her fingers on Carol's smooth forehead and closed her eyes. Remy came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

The push started.

Color bloomed instantly in Carol's body; it was like seeing a white mannequin come to life. Her limbs grew less stiff, her skin went from white to peach, the glossy texture to her blonde locks seemed to return, the brain monitors lit up with activity, and eventually, her eyes opened, revealing the frosty, sapphire orbs within.

Rogue swayed for a moment before collapsing on the bed. "Baby?" she managed.

Carol's gaze wandered over to the flushing belle, and she grinned. "It feels so strange— being back in my own body. I'm tall again," she joked.

Hot moisture filled Rogue's eyes and she squeezed Carol's bare hand playfully. "Ya sayin' Ah'm short?" She climbed on the bed and wrapped her arms around the blonde.

Carol returned the notion in full, and cupped Rogue's wet cheeks in her hands. "I never realized how different it would be to touch you in reality." Her lip trembled. "I'm so sorry for what I did to you. Can you ever forgive me?"

Rogue burst into sobs and kissed the woman passionately.

Remy backed further into the corner, each kiss they shared and every joyous tear they shed was like a stab in the stomach. That emotion on their faces…it was true love, and for a long time he hadn't believed such a thing existed. He knew then, though. And he knew he could never forgive himself if he stood in the way of that. He'd only bring Rogue pain, he couldn't bear the thought of tearing her away from Carol's paradise and dragging her down to his hell.

He'd gotten over worse despondencies before, what was one more layer over his heart?

.

_They got an apartment and made a life of sorts._

_Carol spent her mornings wiping off Rogue's dark make-up from the night before and rinsing the taste of alcohol and other unmentionables from her mouth, then went jogging and read the newspaper. When she got out of the shower she straightened her hair and painted her nails pink; she went to her side of the closet to choose an outfit, then went to work at the diner and hung out with a few friends after her shift. When she got home she read novels in the bathtub and turned her favorite music to a low, soothing volume. She slept in a matching pair of blue pants and tank top, and made love to her girlfriend in their mindscape._

_Rogue spent her mornings painting over the pink on her nails with burgundy and tossing back a few shots to ease the pain of her hangover, then she did boxing routines and lifted weights until the sweat literally poured off of her. When she got out of the shower she combed through her hair and left it wet while she cooked sausage and her famous eggs; she went to her side of the closet to choose an outfit, then went to the shop and walked to a bar after her shift. When she got home she blared her favorite rock n' roll and passed out on the bed in her bra and panties, and then let her girlfriend make love to her in their mindscape._

.

When Rogue turned to motion for him to join the conversation, he was gone.

.

She found him an hour later at the park. He was sitting on a swing, looking gloomily down at the piles of snow.

"When Ah was a kid Ah thought it was cool to pretend Ah was smokin'." She brought her two first fingers to her mouth and pretented to take a drag, then blew out air and watched the puff that resulted. "My Mama beat me senseless when she caught me doin' it." She laughed, and grinded a piece of ice with the heel of her boot. "To this day, Ah've never even brought a cigarette to my lips. Weird, huh?"

He didn't answer, and she hadn't expected him to. She shoved her mittened hands in her pockets and sat on the swing next to his. "Bet Ah can go higher than ya can."

She started and with a begrudging shake off his head, Remy joined and his longer, thicker legs were able to outmatch her pace in no time. For a time they pumped their legs back in forth in silence.

Just as suddenly, Rogue dug her feet into the snow and brought herself to an abrupt hault. "Ah love her," she murmured. Her cheeks were red from the cold, and the tips of her curls were full of tiny snowflakes.

He came to a less graceful stop than she, and stood in an effort to hide the pain. "And what does dat have to do with me?" His shields were back up, his false smirk was across his lips. He was trying to show her that nothing she did mattered and he didn't care. She was just another woman and another failure. He'd won: another challenge completed. Another heart broken.

Only, he had this horrible realization that his heart was the one with the wound.

"It has everythin' to do with ya." She reached for his hand and pulled him down into his swing. "Cause it's wintertime, and Ah get so cold in the wintertime." Her eyes met his curious, and hopeful ones, and she smiled. "Ah talked to Carol. She won't let me get one a them fancy heatin' blankets, but she will let me get someone to keep me warm on the other side."

He couldn't comprehend her meaning. Carol hated him— with a passion. Carol wouldn't, couldn't share. He didn't know if he could share! It was impossible, he was blinded by his hope.

"Y' don' mean-"

She nodded and kissed him fiercely. The cloth of her mittens got caught in his ever-present stubble.

"So," she said after pulling away only slightly. "How's it feel knowin' ya got two women waitin' for ya to come home?"

And pervert that he was, Remy LeBeau couldn't help but lick his lips at the endless, and interesting possibilities that had just opened up before his very eyes.

* * *

Yeah, I know. Weirdest ending ever, right? But hey, it's the 21st century, I hear about polyamorous relationships all the time! (Not really, but bear with me here.) And besides, I'm giving you guys happy endings so far! and I hope to keep that trend.

Song: _Lovers In japan _from the album: _Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends_

Next time: betwixt and between.

Feedback is encouraged.


	3. Betwixt

**A/N: **I thought I could leave _Scorch _alone, but it seems that I can't yet—there's still a story I feel compelled to tell. This one-shot takes place in the 'hidden' years between chapter 16 and the epilogue. I feel that this one-shot can stand without _Scorch_, but I suppose some things may not make sense or have the same meaning unless you've read the fic. (shameless plug)

.

_Time is the fire in which we burn. —Delmore Schwartz._

.

Year One.

.

As he tried following the map and entertaining his infant companion at the same time, it was easy for Remy to forget all the anguish and remorse the past decades of his life had been filled with. Looking down at Rogue: at her tiny booties and minute hands, at the way she struggled to free herself from the car seat, and at the drool on her chin—it was as if things like 'Phoenix' and 'death' had never been prevalent at any time. She was healing him so fast it was almost too good to be true.

Of course, leaving his wife and children behind was more than just painful, but he'd known—maybe from the beginning— that he hadn't belonged in their world. He loved them, and he always would, but he'd been a spectator and they'd been the sport. Now that he had Rogue back, he could _feel _again. He could love fully and dream happily and wake up _wanting _to live for another day.

Today was the end in a sense, but it was also the beginning.

.

Their six-month long road trip took them across the United States. They dined in Los Angeles and watched the sunset in Nevada. Rogue's first tooth broke through while they were staying in Arizona and they saw Dora the Explorer live in Texas. In all places he was often mistaken as her father or grandfather, and though it bothered him somewhat— he made no effort to correct the assumptions.

Eventually, though, he knew it was time to settle. A baby couldn't be raised on airplanes and inside rented vehicles, and shouldn't have to. He wanted to give Rogue the kind of childhood she should have had in the first place. He wanted her to grow up careless and worry-free.

.

They boarded a plane weeks later—first class. Rogue bobbed up and down in her booster seat and mewled softly in the gibberish he found so endearing.

He let her suck the salt off of his peanuts before he popped them into his mouth and finished them off. He made sure to hold them so she wouldn't choke, and he could tell by her scowls and grunts that she did not appreciate his efforts.

They landed in Paris—some place he thought he'd never end back at, and he bought her anything she pointed at: from colorful balloons and candies, to multi-flavored ice cream cones and wooden dolls.

Soon, they were in a cab heading for the excluded countryside. He and his family had often visited _Le Limousin _region in the summertime. He had somewhat fond memories of running through the nearby wood and bringing back berries and insects. At night, _Tante _would serve warm goat's milk and sweet potato bread, with mint and _bourbon crème anglaise. _

The times spent amongst nature and farmland in _Le Limousin _were the only memories Remy had of Jean-Luc smiling and unconcerned with guild affairs and the pressure of being Patriarch. In the summer, Remy had been able forget the cruelty of his foster father. Things always seemed sweeter and less painful beneath the glowing light of the sun.

The cab drove by rolling hills covered with lush meadows and extensive forests, and Rogue watched from her place in his arms, enraptured, at the farmers trotting by with their sheep and cattle.

"Like it, _chère_? 'Cause we're gonna be stayin' here for a long while."

They came to a break in the tree line, and Remy looked over the seat to see their residence.

Their new home was at the bottom of the gorge in all its blue and white quaintness, and completely submerged in oscillating, sun burnt grass. He could see a similarly-colored shed towards the back southwestern corner of the estate, as well as a bed of poppy flowers that carpeted the ground in red as far as the eye could see.

They pulled into a small gravel road. The tires crunched against the rock as the car chugged up the small incline.

"_Vous allez à l'intérieur et à explorer. Je vais prendre soin des bagages_,_(1)_" the cabby offered.

Remy glanced down at the squirming baby in his arms and nodded. "_Merci. Elle s'impatiente_." He took the first step up the walkway, and found himself slightly out of breath by the time he reached the top.

The Cajun explored his pocket until he found the key. "See dis, p'tite?" He dangled the key in front of her face, and watched with a laugh as she reached for it with her plump hand.

Rogue grew frustrated with the dangle and pull away game. She began turning red, but stared at the glinting metal even more intensely. She gave up on her hands altogether, and attempted to shove it in her mouth.

It was only a one-floored home, but it made up for its lack of height with its width. The mahogany floors spread far; the windows were large and took up entire walls. It gave the home a bright, airy feel that Remy loved.

Giving his tiny companion another assuring smile, Remy made his way from the front door and went further into what he assumed was the main room. He took the two steps down into the sitting area, and imagined where they'd put the brand new sofas, inn tables, and entertainment center.

He went through the swinging doors located in the corner of the room and came to the dining room/kitchenette.

"Would y' look at dat view," he breathed in awe.

The backyard was a heavenly picture of thick, rounded bushes, swirling trees, more carpets of red flowers, and chattering squirrels.

She clapped her hands, obviously in agreement.

He managed to tear his attention away from the outdoor sight and continued on his self-guided tour. They discovered the master bedroom and en suite bathroom, as well as an office, a spare bedroom and bathroom—Rogue made a show of claiming them as her own—and a screened-in sunroom that Remy found himself falling in love with right off the bat.

He stepped into the wood-trimmed, cozy space. The room was enclosed on three sides by trees and swaying fields for miles and miles into the distance. He felt quite poignantly the seclusion and peace the room exuded.

"I did a pretty good job, if I do say so m'self."

Rogue giggled.

.

Immortality didn't change him over night. It came with time, with changing diapers and warming up milk; it came with holding his napping _chère _on the sunny porch swing and bathing her gently with bubblegum baby soap; it came with cradling her tightly against his chest when she fussed at night and teaching her how to crawl. It came with love: with every coo and giggle she let loose he felt his aches and pains ease into nothing. Her adoration transferred from her to him; she kept him alive.

He noticed the wrinkles around his eyes were growing steadily more smooth, and that the minor scrapes and bruises that accompanied every day life were healing within hours.

.

She said his name for the first time at eight months old; he'd started looking forty-eight by then.

He'd laid down her favorite cotton blanket on the floor, and stationed her various dolls and playthings on the edges. It was passed her bedtime, but he knew she loved occupying herself while he ate his own dinner and watched television.

That night was different.

She dropped her toys indifferently and crawled over to the sofa. She clapped her tiny hands down on his feet. She glanced up at him devotedly with those wise green eyes, and grinned big and wide.

"Re-y." She said.

And though it wasn't _quite _right, he jumped for joy and laughed anyway. Rogue, wanting to join in the celebration, raised her arms until he lifted her and twirled around the room.

"Re-y!" she squealed. "Re-y, Re-y, Re-y!" Her excitement grew with his, and she giggled frantically when he kissed her chubby hands and tickled her tummy.

"Y' always know how to make dis Cajun de happiest _homme _in de world, _chére_." He brushed a downy curl from her cheek. "Let's get y' to bed, _hein_? S'been a long day."

She pouted, but her cheeks dimpled as she yawned. "Re-y," she repeated a final time before slipping into sleep. Her hand curled around his thumb.

His heart throbbed.

.

They went through all the major milestones that were expected in the first year: she learned to walk and thus got into _everything_. He often found pages of his books ripped from their bindings and decorated with yellow and green swirls. His cards were taken from their respective decks and adorned with scented stickers and stuck together with glitter glue. She 'explored' the lower cabinetry and used the various pots and pans to orchestrate a musical—it felt completely natural for him to get on his knees and join in the fun.

.

Year Three.

.

To say he simply spoiled the girl would not do Remy's dedication to every one of her whims justice. Everything she wanted, and even some things she didn't, was granted to her as soon as she asked. She had a slight obsession with Dora and Boots—he thought it funny that the show was considered a 'classic' by that time—and her bedroom mirrored her idol. Of course, walking into her room and seeing the character's smiling face on pillows, dolls, pajamas, and posters made Remy just the slightest bit uneasy, but what Rogue wanted, Rogue received.

He'd never been any good at saying no to Rogue back when she was an adult, and Ororo had always handled putting Marie in time outs—he just couldn't discipline a _fille_. There was something about big eyes and sweet voices that left him lacking a backbone.

She banged her tiny hands on the arm rests of her highchair. "Doughnuts! Doughnuts!" she chanted.

He held a bowl and her favorite cereal before her. "How 'bout y' eat somethin' else, p'tite? You've had doughnuts for breakfast all week. Do y' wanna get fat?"

Rogue gave him a withering look, and it was more than hilarious, if not a little strange, seeing the familiar expression of his lover on a toddler's face.

"Don't cay-er! Want 'um! Pweeese?" She was begging him with those eyes, and he never could say no once those sparkling emeralds got involved.

He returned the cereal box to its rightful place, and heard Rogue giggling excitedly—she knew she'd gotten her way. Again.

"Come on." He hauled her up from the chair easily.

It was getting less and less difficult to lift heavier and heavier objects. When he washed his stomach in the shower he could feel the old, but familiar feeling of muscle. His back only ached sometimes and his daily morning jogs had gone from thirty minutes to a full hour.

He smiled. The implications of what this meant always managed to astound and excite him—no matter how long or how often he thought about them.

.

In the mornings while Rogue still slept and before he left for his run, Remy would sit in the sunroom with his mug of black coffee and his French newspaper.

The sky in _Le Limousin _was like none other in the world, and Remy had seen a lot of skies and many dawns. Here, in his cottage surrounded by tall grass, it was as if he was someplace straight from the pages of a fantasy novel. Violet and pink splashed like watercolors across the heavens.

He closed his eyes, took a final sip of his bitter, steaming brew, and then stood to begin his run across his land.

"_My _land," he uttered into the chilly air. There was no one to hear him say it, yet he knew he was heard. By _Tante_ and Jean-Luc, by Bobby, by Kitty—by all those who weren't with him anymore.

And he said it simply because it felt nice to do so.

Remy let the screen door flap shut. His sneakers slid across the dewy grass. Grey fog surrounded him and the wet mist splattered against his face; if he licked his lips he could taste the earthy moisture.

He liked to run along the poppy flower field once he left the sunroom. The bright red petals reminded him of sweet fire. If Phoenix had had a body of her own he would have buried her here—no other place would have suited her better.

His jog took him past the small stream and at least a mile of wooded land. He had familiarized himself with the jagged roots and large rocks that littered the ground, and avoided them easily. Birds chirped high in the branches he couldn't see or hope to reach. Rabbits and other rodents scurried from the path and bounded into bushes and holes as he passed by. It'd been a long time since anything or anyone had regarded Gambit with fear.

He paused to take a breath at what Rogue had so aptly named 'The Twisty Trees' when they'd come here to play. He glanced down the line and marveled at the curving branches. They were just barely tall enough to avoid hitting him as he gathered his energy and ran beneath them, but the sagging blankets of moss and leaves still tickled the top of his head. The trees did look out of this world and a little bit magical, now that he thought about it, and he supposed Rogue's various tales of leprechauns and pixies residing in the upper branches weren't _completely _born of her imagination alone.

.

When he reached the end of his jaunt he was atop the hill that overlooked his home and the surrounding areas. He could see everything so clearly—even the rising globe of warmth that was shooting orange and yellow daggers through the violet and rose-tipped fingers in the sky.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, and made his way down.

.

He towel-dried his hair when he finished his soothing shower and hopped back into the bed in jeans and a t-shirt. He wasn't sleepy, but he knew how much Rogue enjoyed throwing open his door when she woke up and tickling him until his eyes opened.

.

Most days were spent in leisure and love. They went to the market and re-stocked their cabinets and fridge. They rented movies off of the internet and watched them on their television. Their afternoons were spent exploring more of the woods and fields, and Rogue grew faster and faster right before his eyes.

But one morning, just another morning—complete with doughnuts and cartoons—the happy melody of their life hit an off-key note.

Ororo called him, and while that wasn't a bad thing, Remy felt himself reeling from the sound of her voice. She was quite literally a blast from his past, and the guilt of leaving her hit him harshly.

"S'good to hear from y', 'Ro." He turned to watch Rogue in her high-chair, and she gave him a grin full of chocolate and sprinkles.

He grinned right back; the knots in his stomach began to unravel.

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Remy." She chuckled.

The sound sent warmth sprawling through his chest.

"I received the dress you sent me—you really shouldn't have, it's much too expensive!"

"Y' can't ever get somethin' too expensive on y' birthday, p'tite. Y' only turn fifty-six once." Sometimes he tried to imagine what Ororo and the others must have looked like. But most times it was too painful—after all, he'd cheated aging and death in a way. They hadn't. They were still mortal and their strength was steadily weaning.

"_Ugh_. Don't remind me! I'm finding myself losing my keys more often—only to find that they were in my hand the whole time!"

She laughed, but Remy wanted to weep.

Ororo could sense his sadness in the deep silence. "Do not pity me, Remy. I am happy, I have lived a full life."

It was then he was able to smile. "Marie an de boys—" He leant against the wall and pressed his forehead against the cool stone. He felt the absence of his children like a missing limb. "How are dey? Did dey like what I sent for Christmas?"

"Of course they did. You've always known them so well."

"Have you—"

"No." She still managed to sound so polite, even when she was cutting him off, "They still think you died in a car crash, and I don't plan on telling them any differently."

He'd thought as much, but it still hurt hearing it voiced aloud. "Makes sense," he managed.

"Yes," her breath crackled in the headset of the phone, "but I know it doesn't make it any less painful, and for that I am sorry, Remy."

He nodded, though he knew she couldn't see the action. "Sometimes I t'ink about how t'ings could be different if we hadn't let Jeannie try to fight Phoenix off by herself—"

"Don't look back," she pleaded. "It will drive you crazy if you look back. What happened, happened, and we can't change it now."

"Who says I ain't crazy already?"

The comment had the desired effect. Ororo chuckled and he smiled at hearing the sound of it, and the harsh, dense ice that had descended upon them was turned to mush. Their words still had a tint of cold to them, but it was bearable then.

"Rogue must be three by now—"

"Three and a half, _mais _smarter den a _femme _twenty years older," he declared proudly. "She's gorgeous, Stormy."

She couldn't seem to answer him at first. "That name—it brings back so many memories." Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. "Have you thought about schooling yet?"

He scratched the back of his head bashfully. "Well, I figured since her memories are gonna come back anyway—"

"—that you'd just spend your time playing and getting nothing done?" she finished, her voice full of barbs. "Remy LeBeau you should be ashamed of yourself! What if her memories don't come back for another fifty years, hm? Are you just going to live with an uneducated woman until then?"

He was laughing too hard to speak, and Rogue was studying him curiously from across the kitchen.

"What's so funny?" she demanded in her tiny, yet commanding, voice. "Tell me," she wailed when he continued to laugh instead of listening to her.

He turned his head away from the phone and gave his _chère _a wink. "I'm talkin' wit an old friend right now, I'll tell y' in a little bit, _d'accord_?"

The belle puffed up her reddening cheeks in frustration, but said nothing more on the matter. She stuck out her tongue at him before returning to her paper and crayons. The face and sides of their massive refrigerator were already covered in over-lapping artwork, and Remy winced when he began to think of where else around the house he could stuff her—'misterpaces'— as she liked to call them.

He pressed the phone back against his cheek. "Did I mention her attitude is still de same? _Dieu_, s'like de woman _knows _what she's doin'."

"I wish I could see her one last time," she murmured wistfully.

He didn't like the pain or the longing coming from her. He didn't like that she spoke as if she'd truly never see Rogue again. It was too final, too sure. The image of Storm, of _his _Storm, was as it had always been: a radiant goddess with a mane of white hair and eyes of the clearest blue. A woman with astounding eloquence who held herself proudly, like only a goddess could. If he accepted what she said it would mean he'd have to accept the glaring fact that Ororo—his teammate, his friend, his wife, the mother of his children—was going to die without him. He was racing towards youth and she was racing towards the grave.

"Don' talk like dat, y' hear me?" He was trembling. He hadn't trembled that badly since before he gave up drinking for good. "I _promise _you'll see her again."

He expected an argument, but she gave him none.

"I believe you, Remy."

.

The conversation left him raw but cleansed. He held Rogue as soon as the phone was on the receiver and wept on her small, curly head.

"Don't be sad." He felt her arms encircle his neck and squeeze him tight.

And it was easy for him to wipe away his tears and do as she asked. "_Merci_, p'tite. I'm better now."

"Luh ya."

"Love y', too." He transferred her back to her seat and righted the papers he'd knocked over while picking her up. "Rogue," he began seriously, "What would y' say to bein' home schooled?"

.

Year Seven.

.

Winter came to _Le Limousin _and Remy grumbled under his breath each time Rogue shook him awake in the morning and insisted that he get dressed. She wouldn't leave him alone until he completed the tedious task of pulling on clothes as well as his coat, gloves, and boots in his half-asleep state. She would shove him through the door and roll her eyes when he complained about the cold.

"Stop complainin'!" She kept his hand in hers as they made their way around back. "It snowed the perfect snow last night!"

"Perfect snow for breakin' my ass bone—"

She shot a dirty glare over her shoulder and ran the rest of the way to the shed. "Hurry up and unlock it!"

"De snow ain't goin' no where, _chère_." But he sped up his comfortable trot anyway and unlocked the bolt.

She squeezed by him through the tiny opening and retrieved their sleds from the rack. "Ah'm so excited!" She jumped up and down, and he couldn't help but grin.

He still wasn't used to hearing the return of that familiar accent, but it was getting easier all the time.

Remy, knowing the drill all too well, sat on the bright pink sled of doom that he was _forced _to buy, and dug his feet into the snow to keep from moving. With an almost devious smirk the belle settled herself on his lap and fidgeted with the reins impatiently. He made sure he had a secure hold around her narrow waist before he tucked his feet in the sled and pushed off the ground.

She screamed all the way down. He screamed, too, but out of terror rather than glee. Of course, he'd deny it when Rogue would bring it up at dinner later that night.

They hit an embankment before the sled could slow down or come to a stop, and were thrown from the flimsy, plastic plaything and deposited some feet later. Remy, who felt eight years younger at least, barely felt the throbbing in his joints. He was more occupied with brushing the snowflakes from the curls of the giggling girl atop him—along with his own loud, hearty laughter.

Her head fell to his chest when she calmed down and they both attempted to catch their breath. He saw that her cheeks were red when she looked up to meet his eyes.

"Ya gotta admit—that was fun as hell!"

"Watch y' language," he chuckled. "An' I wouldn't confuse 'fun' wit 'suicidal' if I were y'. S'not safe." He gave her a wink before sitting up and overturning her onto the snowy ground.

"Hey!" She blew snow from her nose and swept her wool mittens across her face. "Jerk!" She ran after him as he tried to escape to the backyard. "No fair!" she managed in between gulps of air. "Yoah legs are longer than mine!"

Instead of answering her, Remy purposefully slipped on the ice and allowed himself to fall to the solid surface. "Ouch! Oh help me! I can't get up!"

Rogue's face brightened and she straddled the Cajun's waist. "Gotcha!" She giggled and took hold of the lapels of his coat.

Had she been older, _much _older, it would have been an erotic position, and he wouldn't have minded so much. But the thought of being attracted to Rogue—even the adult Rogue—sent Remy through a sea of emotions: from guilt, to longing, to sadness, and even disgust with himself. Because even though the laughing girl above him wasn't attractive to him in the least, she was still Rogue, and therefore—still attractive to him. The love he felt for Rogue wasn't brotherly or fatherly, and that fact hadn't changed.

As if reading his thoughts, Rogue sobered and bit her lip. The action sent his heart to beating.

"Remy? Can Ah ask ya a question?"

The snow was beginning to fall more harshly, so Remy grabbed her close and stood up. "O'course, p'tite. But why don't we go inside an' warm up first?" He carried her to the screen door of the sunroom.

They kicked off their boots and left their coats, mittens, and scarves to dry. He could sense Rogue's burning need to ask her question, and somehow, he knew it wasn't going to be easy to answer. Especially since she seemed so lost in thought. Any other time she would simply ask what was on her mind without a second thought.

She was practically bursting at the seams by the time they'd sat down at the kitchen table with mugs of steaming cocoa in their hands.

"Remy—"

"Marshmallows?" He left his cup on the table and went to the cabinet to retrieve the sweets. Something about this…felt strange. Monumental even. Like what she was itching to ask was going to change the dynamic of their entire relationship.

Puffy treats found, Remy sat back down and silently scoffed at himself. She was seven years old—how significant could her question possibly be?

"Stop stallin'," said she. She did, however, scoop up many of the miniature puffs and drop them into her mug.

"Stallin'?" He sipped his hot drink and smiled stiffly. "Who's stallin'?"

Rogue gave him a look but dropped the banter. "Ah was just wonderin'"—she ducked her head and stirred her cocoa sullenly—"what we are? To each other Ah mean."

His lips paused on the lip of his mug, and the steam wafting up from the brown drink hurt his eyes. He'd expected this question—how couldn't he?

"What do y' mean?" He put more marshmallows into his cup in nervousness rather than desire. He knew _exactly _what she meant.

"It's just, well, Ah don't call ya dad—"

He had to force the brew to slide down his throat.

"And Ah'm pretty sure yoah not my brother…"

She was waiting for him to contribute some sort of response, but he was too shaken. His mind was racing with thoughts: should he tell her the truth? Should he lie for now but tell her when she got older? Should he wait until her memories returned and let her remember on her own? He remembered what Ororo said years before—what if she didn't regain her memories for another fifty years? If he didn't tell her now she could grow tired of waiting and move on. She could begin to think of him as an uncle figure and fall in love with another man, and by the time her memories returned it would be too late.

"So what are we?" she repeated.

He felt overwhelmed by her impatient emerald eyes. It shouldn't be so hard; he should have been able to lay everything on the table before her and answer the many more question she'd be sure to have.

But how did one tell a seven-year-old that she was the love of his life?

As good timing would have it—he'd realize later on that it was nothing less than _amazing _timing since they lived too far out for much company—there was a round of muffled knocking on the door.

He gave Rogue a pointed look and she nodded before running off to her room. Meanwhile, Remy reached into his pocket and began tearing away the plastic he'd bought off of a brand new deck of cards. He let the energy in the first card buzz at his fingertips as he made his way over to the front door.

.

After listening to her breathless explanation in a flurried mix of both French and English, Remy led the shivering woman to the living room and did his best to make her comfortable. He insisted that she sit in the chair closest to the fireplace, and gave her a warm blanket from his bedroom.

"My name's Robert. Robert Lord." He held out his hand and she shook it with a smile.

"I'm Monet. Lovely to meet you."

"Y' hands are freezin'. How about some cocoa?" he offered.

She nodded eagerly, still rubbing her hands together, and he went to the kitchen.

Rogue was watching the dark-haired woman warily from her place around the corner. "Who the hell is she?"

"Watch y' language," he corrected automatically as he began to heat up a fresh pot of cocoa. "An' I'm not sure _who _she is, _chère_. Her car broke down a ways back, an' she had to walk half a mile to get here." He shook his head and unpleasant tremors went up his spine. "Just t'inkin' about it makes my teeth chatter."

Her eyes narrowed. "Nobody _ever _comes this far out in the country," she pointed out. "Ah think it's weird that she got stranded out here of all places." Her upper lip was curled slightly, which alerted Remy to her temperamental state.

"Would y' feel better if I interrogated de _femme_?" He was only joking, but he saw that he'd unwittingly given Rogue ammunition.

"_Much _better actually." She tossed her hair over her shoulder haughtily. "Weren't ya the one always harpin' on me about stranger danger and all that bullsh—"

Remy gave her a look.

"—crap? Ah mean, what if she's some kinda serial killer who pulls this sort of plan all the time! Maybe we're just gonna be another family on her list of victims!"

The Cajun leant against the counter and held his aching sides. Rogue glared at him.

"Laugh all ya want, but _Ah'm _sleepin' with a knife."

"An' risk cuttin' y'self? Don' t'ink so," said he, finally recovering from his laughter. His hand found her shoulder and he squeezed her there. "Y' got nothin' to worry about, Roguey."

She pouted and stomped her foot. "Well don't expect me to introduce myself to our _murderer_." With that, she spun on her heel and went to sulk in her bedroom.

Remy shook his head fondly and readied the drink for serving.

"It's hot." He handed her the cup on a saucer and gave her a warm smile before sitting on the opposite chair.

"Thank you so much." She drank gratefully; he could see color returning to her cheeks.

He gave her another grin in lieu of an answer and watched the fire crackling in the hearth. He couldn't believe how lucky he was for having this distraction. He wasn't ready to decide what to do about Rogue yet, and it would probably be a while before he was. For now, he wanted to give her a happy, normal life, and worrying her with all the tragic, painful times their story was filled with would hinder that.

And he still could not imagine professing his love to someone so young. It gave him chills.

"—alright?"

His attention snapped to her; he winced apologetically after noticing her empty cup and patient stance.

"_Désolé_. I've got a lot on my mind." _That _was the understatement of the century. "Could y' repeat dat?"

She was obviously not surprised that he hadn't been listening. "I was just asking if your daughter is alright." He found himself enjoying the coloring the French accent added to her voice. "She seemed…uncomfortable. I hope it wasn't something I said—"

"She just isn't used to meetin' strangers," he said smoothly, then chuckled. "Guess dat's my fault. I've kept her pretty sheltered since her mama passed away."

Remy stood to prevent her from speaking, and gathered their dishes. He'd given her enough to satiate any curiosity she may have possessed; he hoped that she wouldn't ask anymore questions for fear of being rude. He'd never expected company out of the blue like this. Living so far out in the country had caused him to relax, and he was paying for it now. He hadn't even warned Rogue about the importance of giving away her true name to no one.

Not that any of his foes could have been concerned with him after so many years, but the guild still expected him to take Henri's place when the time was right. Remy had managed to keep both his brother and the elders at bay before his 'death', but if they ever found out he was alive there would be great consequences.

"I am sorry to hear that." She handed him her cup and saucer; her navy blue eyes were endless and searching. "She's a beautiful girl…" She seemed to go away for a moment. "What did you say her name was?"

He froze on the spot.

"Princess."

The two adults turned to stare at the girl. The woman with a smile and glinting eyes, and Remy with a raised eyebrow. Partly because she'd been eavesdropping, and partly because she couldn't think of anything better than 'Princess.'

"My _mama_," she gave Remy a dubious look, "was the daughter of a duke."

Remy fell into a fit of forced laughter and went across the room to pull Rogue tight against his chest, effectively smothering any further lies. "Kids and deir imagination!" he explained to Monet.

_Really? _his eyes and glower said.

_Really. _her smirk responded.

"Well, _Princess_," he forced out, "how about y' put some extra blankets in de guest bedroom?"

.

Her curls were still wet from the bath, and they stuck like leeches to her night gown. He went into the bathroom to pick up her towel and mess before entering her room. Her _normal _room—it'd been more than a relief when she'd grown out of her Dora the Explorer phase. Her décor now was more like the Rogue he knew: lots of green and stuffed animals on every surface he could see.

He pushed the gauzy material of the canopy away and sat on the edge of the bed. "Everyt'ing okay?" She hadn't been her usual chatty self during dinner or when she'd finished her bath. Every other night she was dragging him to her bedroom for their nightly story time.

She shrugged and turned to the opposite side of the bed. He was taken aback. He knew Monet's presence made her uncomfortable—he couldn't understand _why_, women were such complex creatures—but he hadn't thought she'd be mad at him.

"She'll be gone tomorrow, _chère._"

The belle buried deeper beneath the covers. Her muffled voice came to him through the blankets. "That's not what Ah'm worried 'bout."

Remy leaned over and pulled the comforter from over her face. Her cheeks were red and tears were standing in her eyes. She sat up and some of the salty droplets fell to glide down to her chin.

"Ya were lookin' at her all…funny like." she grumbled. "And _Ah'm _the only person you can look at like that, okay?"

After rushing through the last part she flounced back against the pillows and pulled the blanket over her head.

.

When he was done comforting the distraught girl and assuring her that he and Monet weren't going to 'do it'—he'd have to start putting parental locks on the television and computer from now on—he stopped in the hallway to mull over what she'd said.

He meant it when he said nothing was going to happen. He was more than content to wait until Rogue was old enough and gained her memories back for kissing and love making. He couldn't help but think, however, just how long it'd been. He hadn't noticed the craving in the beginning because of his age. Although he and Ororo had still been intimate in their marriage, the need had always been evoked instead of being there constantly. But he'd regressed, by his guess, back to his mid-forty's, and now he thought about it often. It was like an engine revving to life after years of being dormant.

It made him long for Rogue even more. Each time he thought about her as she used to be his stomach flip-flopped. He daydreamed about the nice little things he'd do for her and the smiles she'd give him in return. And that was what he wanted most: to make her smile, to keep her smile there. He'd caused too many tears to fall from her jeweled eyes when he'd had her, but if things go his way she'd never cry for him again.

But wasn't that exactly what was happening? Hadn't she been huddled under her blankets weeping because of him?

He thought about her watery eyes and blushing cheeks. He thought about her unanswered question and her complete distrust of Monet. He thought about her fear concerning his feelings towards their guest and her statement: '_Ah'm _the only person you can look at like that.'

And he sighed and sat down, right there in the hallway. It seemed that despite her age and lack of memory, there was still some part of Rogue that wanted him and loved him as much as he still wanted and loved her.

.

The snow did not let up during the night, and the three inhabitants in the house woke to a world of utter whiteness. The doors and windows were completely buried beneath the masses of snow and ice; it would be impossible for their guest to leave just yet.

He saw that Rogue figured this out as well, and her expression was that of dread and a frosty anger that chilled him from across the room.

Remy's entire body screamed an apology, but Rogue wouldn't have it. She gave Monet a hateful glare before leaving the sunroom and returning to her room.

"She sure is protective of you." Monet turned from the white-washed window. Her hands were twisting together nervously. "I feel like such a burden—"

Remy didn't say anything at first. In all honesty she _was _quite the burden: because of her Rogue wouldn't speak to him, and, he hated to admit it, she was a burden on him. She was the first attractive female he'd been this close to in years. He couldn't help the way he was wired, his body naturally responded to a pretty pair of breasts. Even if he found himself sometimes sweating beneath her piercing eyes, even if he didn't like the way she seemed to know so much more than what he told her, even if he'd caught her watching Rogue from the doorway while she slept the night before—his hormones still reacted.

He couldn't help it, but he felt as though he was betraying Rogue some how.

She wore a sweatshirt and sweatpants of his that he'd leant her as pajamas. He wouldn't admit, even to himself, that she looked absolutely arousing in them.

Remy managed a flippant assurance that she was not a burden, then went to track down his angered belle. Monet was a beautiful woman, but nothing compared to his green-eyed girl.

.

He found her at Rogue's door in the wee hours of the morning. The moonlight was gleaming off of the moisture brimming in her eyes.

She acknowledged his presence calmly, as if she'd known this night and the last he'd been watching her.

"What're you doin'?" His voice wavered; he didn't sound as foreboding as he wanted to.

"She's happy, Remy. You've obviously done well."

He wanted to grill her and get some answers. He wanted the heaviness in his stomach to disappear. He wanted her gaze to be less piercing, knowing.

Just then the sun rose, and yellow flashed in her eyes.

The rest of the inquiries died upon reaching his lips. There was a pressure building behind his eyes as he tried figuring this strange woman out.

She went back to watching the sleeping girl, and he stood there. Haunted memories slithered their way into his brain and familiarity wasn't far behind. He wondered about Monet: the things she knew about them, the way she seemed to know he was lying to her face, her preoccupancy with Rogue.

Monet moved and so did he. They both ended up standing above Rogue's bed, listening to her breathe in and out.

"I wanted to steal her away," she confessed. "I was convinced that I could do a better job." She kneeled and rested her hand on Rogue's pale cheek. Something like grief and anguish were building inside the woman. He could see and feel that.

The question was: why?

"But I will never again make her do something she doesn't want to. I'll never push her away again." She stood up, stretching as she did so. "I'm exhausted. Good night."

He nodded, still in a daze from all he'd just witnessed and heard, and watched as Monet leaned over and kissed the girl's forehead.

"_Goodnight, Marie_."

.

He woke to the sound of fluttering bird wings. He knew from the quiet, less oppressing air that Monet was gone.

Once he distanced himself from the situation it was easy for his mind to come up with the answer.

Rogue burst into his room. "She's gone!" She ran in and landed next to him. "Now things can go back to normal." He felt her nuzzle against him.

He envisioned the yellow in her eyes and heard her saying Rogue's name. He wondered if his _chère _would be as happy seeing the woman gone if she knew that woman had been her mother.

* * *

I broke the chapter into two parts because it was going on 16 pages with no sight in end, and I know that HUGE chapters can sometimes be a bit discouraging.

Hope y'all enjoyed, and I'll begin working on Part Two this weekend.

Song: _Strawberry Swing _from the album: _Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends._

Review Please.


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